


Sylvain Gautier Would Love To Try To Solve All Your Problems Through Sex (Hey It Might Help) by Fall Out Boy

by harriet_vane



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone Needs Therapy, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Happy Ending, M/M, Sharing a Bed, as slow burn as 22k can be, bandom au - Freeform, explicit in a later chapter, implied alcohol abuse and black out drinking, implied secret virgin trope, passing reference to drug abuse and overdose, sylvain uses sex to cope with his problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22212604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harriet_vane/pseuds/harriet_vane
Summary: Dorothea puts a hand on Sylvain’s forehead. “Are you okay? Did you catch something out there on the road with the Blue Lions?”“He caughtfeelings,” says Ingrid.“Oh noooo,” says Dorothea, “I hear that’s fatal.”-or-In which Sylvain wakes up on the wrong tour bus, and refuses to be their sex therapist (unless Felix asks nicely)
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Mercedes von Martritz, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 108
Kudos: 859





	1. The wrong bus

**Author's Note:**

> Are bandom AUs a thing yet? It's been long enough that I think they should be a thing.
> 
> I have played 160 hours of Fire Emblem: Three Houses since Thanksgiving, and while I was waiting on a beta for another fic in another fandom this... just... happened. Whoops? I'm @writesHarriet on twitter and you should come talk to me about this game, I am OBSESSED.
> 
> If you haven't played the game (YOU SHOULD PLAY IT) you can look up Felix and Sylvain's support conversations on youtube. They are in love, and if you play the game right they will (spoiler) spend the rest of their lives together. I think of this fic as an unofficial soulmates AU: in the game they are best friends from childhood, but my theory is that if they hadn't met until they were adults they would immediately realize "Oh, this is who I've been missing all this time." 
> 
> Thanks to Erin and Noah and [mistresscurvy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistresscurvy) for reading as I wrote, for comments, and for betas! Coincidentally I bought all three of them Fire Emblem for Christmas this year, just so I could shout my feelings at them. I am a great friend??? (Also thanks to [OliviaCirce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacirce/pseuds/oliviacirce) for explaining how punctuation works 😂)
> 
> This is all done, just needs editing, should all be up this week!

Sylvain wakes up on a moving bus, which is pretty normal. He’s also somewhere totally unfamiliar, which… Yeah, that’s normal, too. It’s always kind of a surprise, whose bed he’s going to wake up in. 

He’s on the floor, though.

That’s weird.

The floor of a bus is a dirty, unpleasant place to wake up, and for a long minute Sylvain wonders who kicked him out of bed after he pissed them off. He’s a tall, handsome, wide-shouldered guy who’s the lead singer in a band; it’s pretty easy to find someone who’s interested, at least for a little while. But that also means sometimes he ends up with people or in places that aren’t ideal, let’s say, and those mornings can be rough.

The worst is when someone mistakenly thinks it might be a two-night stand, or a “next time I’m in town” thing. They’ve been known to get pissed off when Sylvain makes it clear that it won’t be.

Someone nudges him with what feels like a sneaker, so Sylvain opens his eyes.

He blinks at someone’s vans and up their ripped skinny black jeans, but the face is kind of far-away and hazy. Dark hair. Crabby voice. “Shit,” someone says. “You’re on the wrong bus.”

“I’m what?” Sylvain croaks, pushing himself up to sitting. His head is spinning. It’s not just the movement of the bus. He can’t remember what the fuck he drank last night. Must have been a lot. He squints and blinks.

The someone standing over him resolves from a blur into the scowling face of the bass player of the opening band that played last night. The extremely pretty and bangable bass player, Sylvain remembers thinking. The one who hadn’t responded to any of Sylvain’s flirting except for an eye-roll, and who’d shoved right past him to get to the bar.

He still looks very pretty and bangable in the morning, glaring down at Sylvain. Long dark hair pulled up in some kind of messy bun, black jeans and black hoodie and black vans. 

“What do you mean, the wrong bus?” Sylvain says.

“I mean this is _our_ bus,” says the bass player. “Why the fuck are you on our bus?”

“What a great question,” says Sylvain. He drags himself to his feet. He feels like trash, and he probably looks like trash, too. “Uh, do you have my phone by any chance?”

“Why would I have your phone,” sneers the bass player. 

“Because I don’t,” says Sylvain, trying to sound cheerful. “So, uh, I’m not really sure where _my_ band’s bus is right now, and I’m a little worried they’re worried.”

The bass player snorts and pushes past him. 

Sylvain doesn’t have anything else to do, so he follows him. Last night is a blur. It’s totally possible he got trashed and decided to track down a pretty bass player and passed out before he could find him. “I guess I’m glad I didn’t end up in a ditch somewhere,” he says. 

The bass player grabs a can of Starbucks out of the mini fridge and throws himself down at the tiny table. He pulls out his phone and proceeds to ignore Sylvain completely.

Sylvain sits down across from him. “So, uh,” he says. “I guess you guys can drop me off somewhere?”

“Where,” says the bass player flatly.

“Uhhhhh,” says Sylvain. “Our next tour date is Chicago, on Friday.”

“So you want us to just leave you by the side of the road and you’ll hitch there? Do you even have your wallet?”

Great question. Sylvain pats himself down. “Whoops,” he says. “Uh…”

The bass player snorts again. He hasn’t looked up from his phone.

“I guess you’re stuck with me!” Sylvain says cheerfully. “I’m Sylvain, by the way. Remember how you opened for us last night? And I tried to hit it with you and you totally shut me down? I don’t take that personally, don’t worry. As long as I’m here, wanna fuck? No strings attached.”

The bass player looks up at him, some combination of incredulity and fury. “Was that supposed to be flirting?” he says.

“Why, did you miss it?” Sylvain asks. “I don’t have a lot of skills, but that’s one I have nailed. ...Get it? Nailed?”

The bass player makes a face like he just ate a handful of nails and goes back to his phone.

“And your name…?” Sylvain prompts.

“Do you fuck a lot of people whose names you don’t bother to learn?” 

“Sweetheart,” says Sylvain, grinning, “if that flirting had gone better I’d remember your name ‘cause I’d have been shouting it over and over in bed, all night long.” 

“Gross,” says the bass player. 

A cheerful voice chirps, “He’s Felix! And I’m Annette. You can flirt with me, but I should tell you I have a girlfriend. Why are you on our bus?”

The world’s tiniest, cutest redhead pops up behind Felix. She’s the singer, Sylvain remembers, and she’s great; the kind of cute you can’t take your eyes off of. 

“I don’t remember,” says Sylvain. “Maybe I was trying to flirt with Felix over here after a few too many drinks?”

“I didn’t invite you on our bus,” says Felix flatly. 

“I’m very good at inviting myself places,” Sylvain says. He looks at Annette. “Is he this friendly with everyone, or am I special?”

“Honestly, he’s said more words to you than he usually says in a week!” Annette giggles. “You’re doing pretty well.”

“No, he’s not,” says Felix.

That warms Sylvain’s heart. He does love a challenge, especially a pretty, surly one. Sylvain always backs off when someone’s body language or actual words tell him to. There are plenty of people who want to sleep with a good-looking singer in a band, he doesn’t need to push himself on anyone. But he’s also really good at sensing interest, and Felix is… Well, he’s not _not_ interested. He just seems really walled off. 

Maybe it would be good for him to let those walls down and have a nice friendly fuck with a guy he’ll never have to see again. Sylvain certainly hopes so.

“What are we going to do, though,” says Annette. 

“Abandon him by the side of the road,” Felix suggests again.

“Feeeeeelix,” Annette says, drawing his name out chidingly.

Felix shrugs a little. “He got himself into trouble. He can get out of it.” 

“Stop pretending to be a heartless dick,” says Annette. She beams at Sylvain. “We’ll figure something out. We’re not heading to Chicago, but… Well! Something has to be done, I guess! Hey, do you want to borrow my phone to let your band know you aren’t dead?”

“I don’t know any of their phone numbers,” Sylvain says. 

“Email?”

“Uh…. Maybe?”

“Email Byleth,” says Felix, still tapping away at his phone. “She arranged for us to open for your band, she’ll have contact information.”

“Felix, you are so smart!” Annette chirps, and kisses his cheek. Sylvain is astonished to note that Felix not only lets her, he smiles just the tiniest bit, before he glances up, sees Sylvain watching him, and goes back to scowling.

“Ugh,” says Felix performatively. “Gross.” Sylvain can tell that his heart isn’t in it. Annette doesn’t even trouble herself to respond.

“I’m just worried about Dimitri,” says Annette. “You know how he gets when anything goes wrong.”

A flash of _something_ crosses Felix’s face. 

“The drummer, right?” Sylvain says. “He’s hot. You are a very attractive band. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. He’s… got very high standards,” says Annette. “For himself, mostly. He’s gonna find a way to make this mix-up all his own fault, and—” 

“And be insufferable,” snarls Felix. He stands up. “I’m gonna go practice,” he says, and stomps away to the back of the bus.

The sounds of the road outside seem suddenly loud. “Don’t mind him,” says Annette quietly. “He and Dimitri… Anyway, it’s a long story, and it’s not your problem. I’ll just email Byleth and see what we can do.”

If Felix and Dimitri the drummer are banging—heh, banging—or _have_ banged, or are dancing around each other wishing they were banging, then Sylvain doesn’t want to get involved in this. He’s had some pretty good threesomes, but only when both of the other people were being honest with each other. He’s had some truly lousy threesomes where the other two people were using him to express shit they didn’t know how to say out loud. It’s not fun.

“Yeah, I’m gonna help myself to one of your Red Bulls,” Sylvain says. “Let me know when they email you back, okay?”

“Will do!” Annette promises.

—

Sylvain’s band did not think he was dead, it turns out, they just assumed he had gone to sleep with someone and gotten lost, because he didn’t have his phone or wallet. “It’s not like you haven’t done this before,” says Ingrid.

“I’ve never actually gotten on the wrong bus,” Sylvain protests. He’s using Annette’s phone. 

“Is anyone surprised, though?” Ingrid asks.

Sylvain sighs. “I was surprised,” he says. “I woke up on the floor. Usually when I wake up somewhere stupid I at least had a good time the night before.”

“Oh, you were having a good time,” Ingrid says. “Even for you, you were shit-faced. Maybe, Sylvain, this is one of those moments when the universe is trying to tell you to get your life together. Maybe you should stop and reflect—”

“Oh, weird, you’re breaking up, we’re going through a tunnel,” says Sylvain, and hangs up on her.

Annette looks at him disapprovingly. “If you’re blacking out drunk a lot, that’s actually pretty bad,” she says. “You know that, right?”

“Rock’n’roll, baby!” Sylvain says, keeping his tone light and joking. He knows. He doesn’t need to be lectured. He’s made some bad decisions, and he’s not proud of them, but he wouldn’t take them back even if he could. He can’t live up to his parents’ expectations, but he can live down to their worst fears. At least he’s not his brother, who’s fucking dead. 

“Sylvain!” Annette says. “I know we just met, but… Should I be worried about you?”

“Absolutely not,” says Sylvain. “Listen. I’m a fun guy. I like to have fun, and sometimes I go a little overboard. Whoops. I make sure I leave before anyone else gets hurt.” 

“Anyone _else_ ,” repeats Annette.

Sylvain doesn’t want to have this conversation. “You think Felix would be down for a quick—”

“No,” says Annette, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

Sylvain sighs. “Why are the pretty ones always so difficult?”

“Oooh,” says Annette, “call him pretty to his face. I wanna watch.”

Sounds like a challenge. “Why, is he unaware that he’s pretty?” Sylvain asks.

“He’s extremely aware of how to punch someone in the face,” says Annette. “One time this guy tried to jump on stage and I think he was going to grab my arm? Felix freaking knocked him out _cold_. It was extremely sexy. Also, he almost got arrested.”

“Nice,” says Sylvain. “A bad boy, huh?”

Annette giggles. “I mean, not really. But don’t tell him I told you that. You have to let him think you don’t know he’s all marshmallow inside.”

“Oh no, a bad boy with a secret heart of gold? My loins are on _fire_ over here,” Sylvain says. “Sexier and sexier.”

—

Dimitri, when he finally wakes up, is not what Sylvain was expecting. As a drummer he’s super intense; he beats the shit out of the drum set. But as a person he’s painfully polite, even a little bit deferential. There’s something weirdly old-fashioned about him. 

Also, he keeps apologizing to Sylvain, like this whole fuck up is somehow not directly Sylvain’s fault.

“We _will_ make this right,” says Dimitri.

“Dude,” says Sylvain. “I’m the one invading your space. I’m sorry—”

“I hope you will find us decently hospitable,” says Dimitri. “We will make sure this is taken care of.”

From the bunks behind the table Felix shouts, “Just leave him by the side of the road!”

“Even Felix,” Dimitri says, raising his voice a little.

“Fuck off!” Felix shouts back. 

Dimitri sighs heavily. “Please do not take him to heart.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” says Sylvain. Now that he’s met Dimitri he doesn’t think he and Felix are fucking, necessarily, but boy is there some weird tension between them. 

“We do not abandon our responsibilities,” Dimitri says. He’s so _serious_. He’s gonna give himself a heart attack at like, twenty-five.

“I’m not one of your responsibilities,” Sylvain laughs.

“You are now,” says Dimitri. “We will make this right.” 

Sylvain can tell Dimitri is deadly serious, so he tries not to laugh. It’s hard, though. Imagine thinking anything involving Sylvain is this serious. Or important.

—

They stop at a truck stop, one of the nice ones with three restaurants and a whole store, and showers and laundry for the truckers. Felix is off the bus like a shot, and Sylvain goes racing after him. “Hey,” he says, “wait up.”

“Why,” snarls Felix. 

“Because we’re stuck together for three more days,” says Sylvain, with his biggest, easiest smile. “Doncha wanna make friends?”

Felix snorts and rolls his eyes. It’s freezing outside, and their breath is crystallizing in the air. Felix is wearing a leather jacket over his hoodie, and he looks fucking cold. Sylvain doesn’t have a jacket. Or… anything else, actually. 

“I need to buy a toothbrush,” he says.

“Why,” says Felix again, hands stuffed into his pockets. He shivers. “You’re not going to be kissing anyone on our bus.”

“Annette has a girlfriend,” Sylvain says, “but what about Dimitri…?”

The look Felix gives him is sheer disbelief. “Dimitri,” he repeats.

Sylvain grins. ”Jealous?”

“Jealous of _Dimitri_?” Felix repeats, some mix of furious and incredulous and offended. It’s so cute. He looks like he might genuinely start punching stuff. His cheeks are all pink from the cold.

“Jealous of _me_ and Dimitri?” Sylvain says hopefully. 

“I—that’s—What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” Felix splutters, and storms into the truck stop store.

Sylvain laughs and jogs after him. “So is Dimitri off limits?” he asks. This fishing expedition is going pretty well, all things considered.

“To you? Yes.”

“Ahhhh,” says Sylvain, “but to _you_?”

Felix splutters angrily some more. “I’m not fucking Dimitri,” he snaps. 

“Would you like to be?” Sylvain smiles innocently. “I can help! I’m great at facilitating threesomes—”

“No! Why would you—Why are you _like_ this?” 

Sylvain shrugs. “I told you: flirting is one of my only skills. If you’re pining for your enormous blond friend back there, I can help. Let me help. I’m good. I’m _so_ good.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Felix stares at him some more. A burly black truck driver mutters angrily and has to duck around them to get to the bin selling discounted DVDs. 

“Dimitri is off limits because he’s fucked in the head,” says Felix finally. “He’s like, truly and completely off the deep end. He won’t sleep with you, and he won’t flirt with you, because he’s fundamentally broken inside somewhere. All he does is panic and feel guilty and try to fix shit that’s not his fault. If I thought you could fuck him back to sanity I’d be showering you with condoms.”

That’s disappointing. “Oh,” says Sylvain. “Bummer.”

“Yeah,” snaps Felix, “it’s a fucking _bummer_ that my _best friend_ lost his _mind_.”

Sylvain sighs. “Listen,” he says, “I’m sure your problems are really serious and everyone here is all fucked up over it. But I’m nobody’s therapist. Maybe a sex therapist, though! Do you have any _sexy_ problems I could help with? Anything that’s really _hard_ for you right now?” He waggles his eyebrows again to make sure the entendre comes through.

“Gross,” says Felix. He looks Sylvain up and down, but unfortunately it’s more measuring than sexy. “What’s got you all fucked up?”

“Me?” Sylvain laughs. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh,” says Felix flatly.

“I’m gonna go buy some clothes,” says Sylvain. “Can I borrow a credit card? ...Unless you want me to just wear yours for the next three days?” 

Felix sighs very loudly and walks away.

—

Byleth comes up with a plan, and the plan is this: on Friday the Blue Lions will be in Cincinnati, which isn’t _that_ far from Chicago, so she’s going to arrange a car. And for the next three days Sylvain is going to hang out with them and—this is a quote—not be so annoying that he gets himself killed.

“Excuse you, I am _charming_ ,” says Sylvain. Byleth hangs up on him.

“I think you’re charming,” Annette agrees. She swipes some of Felix’s fries, and Felix pushes his basket of fries closer to her without actually looking up from his phone. 

How did she do it, Sylvain wonders. How do you get to the marshmallow center of Felix Fraldarius? 

“You will be our honored guest,” says Dimitri.

The other member of the band is an absolutely enormous guy who hasn’t said one single word so far. His name is Dedue, and he spends most of his time staring at Dimitri with a worried crease between his brows. “Indeed,” he rumbles.

Felix sighs loudly. “Where’s he supposed to stay? It’s a small bus. We’re already crowded. Why does he have to be _our_ problem?”

“Felix,” Annette chides.

“If an idiot gets black-out drunk then the idiot should suffer the consequences,” says Felix. 

“Please forgive Felix,” says Dimitri. “He enjoys being difficult.”

“Fuck you,” says Felix, shoving his chair back from the table and walking out of the dining area. He goes through the double doors. Sylvain can see him standing by the curb outside.

“Does he smoke?” asks Sylvain. “He seems like a guy who’d like an excuse to go outside.” 

“He quit,” says Annette. “Please don’t offer him a cigarette. He was _so_ grumpy when he was quitting. I tried to come up with distractions, other things for him to suck on, but he’s…he really is difficult.”

It’s clear that Annette spends a lot of time babysitting these guys. “This isn’t ‘so grumpy’?” Sylvain asks, impressed. 

Dimitri looks apologetic. “Felix is not a ray of sunshine under even the best of circumstances,” he says. 

“He’s a loyal friend,” says Dedue stiffly. “And an excellent bass player.”

“And if he’s a little on-edge,” says Dimitri, still apologizing for some unknown reason, “it makes sense. He’s had…a rough time.”

“He was surly before that,” says Annette.

Dimitri shakes his head. “No. I have caused—”

“It wasn’t you,” interrupts Dedue.

This is all some weird psycho-drama that is way above Sylvain’s interest level. “Cool, cool,” he says. “But my main question is, does he have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or a whoever who’s gonna get mad if I spend the next three days hitting on him?”

Dimitri, Annette, and Dedue exchange looks. “Well,” says Dimitri, “no.” 

“It would sure be an interesting choice, I guess,” says Annette. “Um. Good luck!”

“Felix is difficult, but he is our friend,” says Dedue. “Don’t cause unnecessary conflict.”

Sylvain holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not here to cause problems, I’m here to offer him a sexy outlet for all that pent-up stress. And…he hasn’t actually said ‘no’ yet.”

Another exchanged glance. “Huh!” chirps Annette, like maybe that means something. 

“Godspeed,” says Dimitri, who is clearly living in the wrong century.

—

It’s so fucking cold outside. Felix is standing on the curb, nose totally pink, bouncing on his toes a little bit. His breath comes out in freezing white puffs. 

“Why don’t you get back on the bus?” asks Sylvain, walking up behind him. He bought himself a bunch of underwear and a t-shirt to change into, and also a scarf and a hat, but he’s actually a little sweaty with them both on. 

“I spend all day on the bus,” says Felix, not looking at him. “Can’t get any exercise. If it were ten degrees warmer I’d go for a run.”

“Truck-stop parking-lot fresh air,” jokes Sylvain. 

Felix gives him a dirty look. “Better than the stale air inside.”

“Yeah, but you look so _cold_ ,” says Sylvain.

“I’m fine,” says Felix, shivering.

Sylvain sighs and unwinds the scarf he just bought from around his neck. He puts it gingerly around Felix instead. “Here,” he says. “Don’t freeze just because you’re stubborn.” 

“Who says I’m stubborn?” Felix asks, stubbornly. He doesn’t take his hands out of his pockets. Sylvain tucks the scarf carefully into his leather jacket. Their cold puffs of breath are mingling, but Sylvain is smart enough to know that if he leaned in for a kiss right now Felix would bite his head off. One step at a time. Felix didn’t rip the scarf off and throw it on the ground, so he’s either actually freezing to death or he doesn’t really mind. Sylvain would bet money on the latter.

“Thanks for letting me crash your party for a couple of days,” says Sylvain.

“I’m not _letting_ you. I can’t get rid of you, is all,” Felix scoffs.

“You could,” Sylvain says softly. He waits.

Felix looks at the ground for a long minute. His cheeks are pink, and Sylvain doesn’t think it’s just from the cold. “Whatever,” says Felix eventually. “I don’t care.”

“Sleep with me,” Sylvain suggests. “I’ll be gone in a couple of days and it’ll be like I was never here. Have a little bit of fun. Why not?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “I get it. Love ‘em and leave ‘em so no one’s ever around long enough to ask you why you’re doing it, and if you’re okay.” 

Sylvain takes an involuntary step backwards. “Hey,” he says. “We just met. Hold off on psychoanalyzing me until you know my last name, at least. Let me cling to the illusion that people can’t see right through me.”

Felix smirks. “You’re like glass,” he says. “Totally transparent. And I’m not interested in being the most recent guy whose name you can’t remember after you decided to drown your sorrows in dick.”

It shouldn’t sting, but it does. It makes him want to sleep with Felix even more, and also never speak to Felix again. “You’re not _just_ convenient—” Sylvain protests.

“Okay,” says Felix, rolling his eyes. “Whatever.”

Sylvain would very much like a drink. Or a different cute person to flirt with. Or a place to go that’s not back on the bus, where Felix is going to be watching, and apparently judging him. But he can’t have that until Friday, so he straightens his shoulders and goes for the big smile. The big smile always works.

“You’re also really hot. I can keep flirting, right?” Sylvain says. “I’m pretty bored. All my shit is on my bus. I need a hobby to keep busy.”

Felix snorts. He’s definitely blushing. Sylvain would like to see him blush like that while he’s naked. “I’m not your _hobby_ ,” he huffs. 

Sylvain is usually a big fan of enthusiastic consent, but he’s starting to suspect he won’t ever get more than a grudging “okay” from Felix, even if Felix was as horny for him as he is for Felix. Annette said he’s a marshmallow, but Sylvain should let him pretend he’s not. Sylvain’s willing to bet that Felix won’t come out and flirt with him, ever. Maybe a “Sure, fine,” from Felix _is_ his version of enthusiastic consent.

“You are officially my new hobby!” Sylvain announces, holding his arms out grandly. Felix scoffs, and Sylvain puts an arm around him. Felix is still shivering, even with the scarf. “Don’t worry, baby, this is gonna be a fun few days,” Sylvain promises.

“Yeah, you wish,” says Felix. The bus honks across the parking lot. Felix shrugs out of Sylvain’s arm and starts walking away. “Hurry up,” he calls back. “Before you get left behind by yet _another_ bus.”

“You wound me!” Sylvain shouts, grinning, and follows him.

—

Sylvain googles the Blue Lions on Annette’s phone and he finds out: the band was started by Dimitri, and he and Felix are childhood friends from way back. They met Dedue and Annette in school, and by all accounts the band is ridiculously close knit, or they were, until something happened a little more than a year ago that the fans on reddit can’t stop speculating about. 

Although reports are hazy, varied, and speculative, it seems like Dimitri’s parents and Felix’s brother all died in some kind of accident. Dimitri was apparently there, Felix wasn’t. And Dimitri, according to fan accounts, “hasn’t been the same since.” 

Sylvain feels a little bad looking up all this information, but he’s got three days to get to the bottom of these people’s issues so he can sleep with at least one of them. There’s no time to waste.

There are old pictures online of Dimitri and Felix, and Felix has that same gentle smile for Dimitri that he has now for Annette. But nothing from the last year shows Felix doing anything but scowling, and every picture of Dimitri is of him staring at his shoes. It’s so weird, seeing this tall, handsome guy look for all the world like he wants to shrink away and be forgotten. 

BlueLionFan10029 thinks the band is on the verge of collapse. DimiLixLuvR thinks they used to be a couple but they broke up after the accident. FukMeFelx thinks they were never fucking but that they should bang out all their problems. If Sylvain were actually a sex therapist he’d agree.

Pitchfork thinks their sophomore album, “built on a foundation of loss and shared grief,” is their best yet.

Sylvain tags along to their show that night, speculating. He doesn’t _think_ they’re on the verge of collapse. The show is solid, Annette sparkles on stage. She does a great job of singing with Felix, who gives her that little smile he seems to reserve just for her (the crowd screams) and then singing to Dimitri, who nods seriously. They just seem…awkward. Off-stage they’re all tension. Sylvain honestly can’t believe Felix doesn’t smoke, he’s always fiddling with things.

Sylvain doesn’t actually get a “we need to bang” vibe from them. He gets a vibe of grief, for sure, and he gets awkwardness, he gets tension. But he thinks maybe it’s more like…maybe they’ve never talked about anything. Dimitri would clearly rip his own chest open to give anyone who asked his still-beating heart. Felix would rather jump into traffic than admit to needing or wanting anything. It’s not a great combination for dealing with trauma. 

Maybe, when Sylvain peaces out on Friday, he’ll shout “Fucking talk to each other!” as his hired car speeds away. That might help?

A hot girl at the show recognizes Sylvain, and he doesn’t even have a phone to kill time with, so he flirts harmlessly with her for a while. “I can’t buy you a beer,” he apologizes, “I lost my wallet.” 

“I’ll buy _you_ one,” she coos.

The Blue Lions’s set just finished, and Felix walks past Sylvain with an olympic-level eye roll and disbelieving snort.

“Hold that thought, sweetheart,” says Sylvain, and follows him. “What?” Sylvain asks, as Felix pushes his way up to the bar. “You can’t be jealous. Want me to ask her if she has a cute friend? You’d be amazed how many girls are down for a threesome, or a foursome, if you just ask.”

“No,” says Felix flatly. He’s sweaty from being on stage. The loose hair that’s fallen out of his bun is sticking to his cheeks and forehead. It’s so hot. Sylvain wants to get him into bed and wreck that hair. He wants to see it down, sweaty, stuck to Felix’s flushed skin. 

Sylvain smiles coaxingly. “Buy me a beer? I’ll get you back on Friday.”

“On Friday I’ll never see you again,” scoffs Felix, but he asks the bartender for two beers anyway.

“Don’t think of it as hit it and quit it,” argues Sylvain. “Think of it as me not overstaying my welcome.”

“Do these lines work on anyone?” Felix asks, rolling his eyes again. He shakes his head. “Maybe I should tell you I’ll fuck you, and then when you show up there’s a therapist waiting in the room.” 

“You should definitely tell me you’ll fuck me,” Sylvain agrees. “Thanks for the beer.”

A girl squeezes in next to them at the bar. “Hey,” she says to Felix. “I like your band. You’re really talented.”

She’s pretty hot, and the look she’s giving Felix is a straight-up invitation.

“Thanks,” says Felix, uninterested, and drinks his beer.

After a few moments she realizes that’s the sum total of his response, and vanishes into the crowd again with a disappointed little pout.

“Hang on,” says Sylvain. “Is the problem that you don’t know when people are flirting with you? Should I try and be even more obvious somehow?”

“I knew she wanted to flirt,” says Felix, drinking his beer. He has a good neck, Sylvain likes looking at it tipped back like that. 

“But…you don’t know how to flirt back?” Sylvain suggests. “Is that it? You need flirting lessons? Sweetheart, I am your boy.”

Felix almost laughs. Almost! Sylvain gives himself an imaginary gold star sticker. 

“I can flirt,” Felix says. “I just don’t want to flirt with _you_.”

“Or with her? Hot people aren’t your type?” Sylvain is genuinely curious. He’s building a casefile for Felix in his head. Sylvain may only be interested in quick hook ups, but he does try to take a genuine interest in people he’s planning to sleep with. And Felix is a riddle locked inside a puzzle box.

“You think a lot of yourself,” says Felix. 

“Oh please,” Sylvain laughs. “I know I’m attractive. I get my picture taken a lot. You know you’re attractive, too...right?”

“Shut up,” says Felix, pretty mildly all things considered.

Sylvain’s had a beer on an empty stomach, and he’s gotta check in on some of these mixed signals he’s getting. He leans in a little. Felix has these little tendrils of hair almost falling into his eyes. Sylvain brushes one of them gently back.

Felix opens his mouth a little, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes look almost gold in the shitty light of this bar. He just looks at Sylvain, and then after a long minute he bites his lip and looks at the floor.

Okay, Sylvain’s new working theory is that Felix is a virgin.

Fine, maybe not a total and complete actual virgin. If he’s never had sex at all then Sylvain’s gonna have to work about a thousand times harder than he was expecting to make this really good. But like…either Felix hasn’t had _much_ sex, or he hasn’t had much _lately_ , because for just a second his expression was so _hungry_ and so _uncertain_ that Sylvain can’t think of what else it could possibly mean.

“You’re so pretty,” Sylvain says. 

“Oh, fuck off,” says Felix, looking at his beer. He finishes it off and then waves at the bartender for another one. The band drinks for free, but Felix puts down a few dollars for tip anyway. Sylvain approves. 

“Annette said if I told you you were pretty you’d punch my face off.”

“Yeah, well,” says Felix. “Say it again and maybe I will.”

An empty threat, Sylvain thinks. “Wanna go back to the bus and make out? I can do hands strictly above the waist, if you’re feeling shy.”

Felix elbows him in the ribs. He hits kind of hard, actually, and the air whooshes out of Sylvain with a little “oof.” 

“Okay, not up for make outs,” Sylvain says.

“You’re insatiable,” says Felix. His voice isn’t especially deep, but it has this sexy rasp to it. It’s gonna sound totally amazing after sex. 

“I can be, if you want,” says Sylvain cheerfully. “Maybe we can talk everyone into making tonight a hotel night.”

“Tonight is a bus night, we need to be in a different city tomorrow,” says Felix. “Tomorrow night will be a hotel. And no, we don’t have a room for you booked.”

Sylvain couldn’t be more delighted. “Oh no,” he says, “are we gonna have to share a bed? This is a tragedy, how will I ever recover?”

Felix gives him a little shove. “You wish.”

“I guess I could share with Dimitri,” Sylvain says, just to watch the fireworks start.

Felix’s face goes dark and he splutters for a second, eyes narrowing. “You are _not_ gonna—You can sleep on the bus, by yourself,” Felix snaps. 

Sylvain figures if he plays his cards right he’ll have worn Felix down by tomorrow night, so he’s not too worried. “Is Dimitri okay, though?” he asks. “He’s so sweet, but then he gets on stage, and he’s almost…possessed.”

“I don’t know,” snarls Felix. “He doesn’t say a word to me about anything, ever, except stupid apologies for dumb shit that’s not his fault. He’s fine, according to him. Some night, in the middle of a concert, he’s going to snap and rush into the audience and break someone’s neck, but no one listens to me about it.”

“So…I gather something kind of bad happened…” Sylvain says.

Felix finishes his second beer, slams it down on the bar, and stalks outside. He doesn’t even have his coat this time; he’s going to freeze to death.

“Note to self,” says Sylvain. “Bringing up Dimitri does _not_ increase the chances for sexy times.”

—

Sylvain would probably honestly fit best bunking in with Annette, who is pocket sized. Of course, as soon as she points that out, Dimitri jumps in and tries to insist that he’ll sleep on the floor tonight, and Sylvain should take his bed. This makes Dedue narrow his eyes slightly and say, “Dimitri,” in this strangled tone of voice, like they’ve had this kind of argument a thousand times, and it’s killing Dedue.

“I’m not taking your bed, dude,” Sylvain laughs. “But thanks for the kind offer. I slept on the floor once, I can sleep on the floor again.”

“You can sleep with me,” Annette insists.

“I’m not sure that’s entirely appropriate,” Dimitri says, sounding apologetic. “Wouldn’t Mercie mind?”

“She’s not worried I’m gonna cheat on her with _him_ ,” says Annette, which is the nicest possible total dismissal. Sylvain can’t even quite be insulted.

Annette looks at Felix. Felix looks firmly at the wall over Sylvain’s shoulder, arms crossed. 

“Well…” says Annette slowly, “Dimitri, you and Dedue are probably just too big and wide to share a bed, huh?”

There is a very long silence.

“I really am happy to take the floor,” says Sylvain, because if no one says anything for another minute he’ll start screaming.

“Fuck!” says Felix, throwing his hands in the air. “Fuck all of you!” 

“Thank you!” says Annette, beaming, and hugs him. 

“Again, I will gladly—” Dimitri starts. Dedue hustles him to the far end of the bus to brush his teeth.

Sylvain smiles at Felix, who is scowling at the floor. “I’m nice and warm,” Sylvain offers. “And I’m a great cuddler.”

“Do I look like a cuddler?” Felix spits. He glares at Annette. “You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Annette, pushing up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll have Mercie cook you a steak feast when the tour is over. And you can spend the whole night playing with the cats and I won’t put a single picture on Instagram.”

“I don’t care what you take pictures of,” says Felix, but his cheeks are pink again, and he’s definitely lying.

“Last tour Felix tried to sneak a stray cat onto the bus,” says Annette to Sylvain. 

“It was injured!”

“It wasn’t,” says Annette. “Anyway, we took it to the local vet and then the shelter.”

“It was cold,” Felix mutters. 

Sylvain wants to climb on top of him, push him down, and kiss him until he forgets his own name. God. He swallows the words _You’re adorable_ because he doesn’t want to get stabbed before bed.

“Luckily for all of us, I bought some pajamas,” Sylvain says. “Because normally I sleep na—”

“Shut _up_ ,” says Felix. “I’m going to bed. Do whatever you want.” He pulls his hoodie and t-shirt off in one fluid motion—his back is just as sexy as Sylvain would have hoped—that leaves his hair a little bit disheveled with wisps of hair falling down his shoulders. He digs into his bunk and brings out another hoodie, which he immediately puts on. Sylvain stifles a sigh. 

Annette whispers, “Like a Victorian maiden,” and winks at Sylvain.

Felix kicks off his sneakers and jeans, pulls on some deeply unflattering sweatpants, and vanishes behind the curtain into the bunk. There is no, “I’ll make room” or “Follow me,” not that Sylvain was really expecting either one.

Sylvain puts on the t-shirt and shorts he picked up at the truck stop and pulls the curtain aside a tiny bit. “Hey,” he says. “Uh, so—”

“I told you, I don’t care,” says Felix. His back is turned to Sylvain, and he’s looking at his phone.

There’s room for Sylvain, barely, as long as his shoulders don’t get in the way. Felix isn’t small, exactly, he’s just not bulky. He’s lithe. Strong but slim. Probably all muscle under those sweats. Sylvain sends a little prayer of thanks up to the goddess and hoists himself into the bunk.

“Cozy,” says Sylvain.

“Shut up,” says Felix. The glow of his phone is the only light in the tiny space. Sylvain wiggles around a little to get comfortable. Well, as comfortable as possible, with Felix’s elbow half in his stomach. 

Sylvain loves playing with fire. “Wanna snuggle?”

Felix kicks him.

The most comfortable way to lie together in this bunk would be for him to put his arm over Felix, but Sylvain doesn’t want the bruise that would go with it. 

“Is anything good happening in the world?” Sylvain asks. “I miss my phone.”

“No,” says Felix. He pauses. “I’m… I’m literally just looking at the instagram of this kitten fostering agency. I don’t have like, twitter or whatever.”

He sounds so defensive and embarrassed, like that’s not the cutest thing Sylvain has ever heard in his entire life. Sylvain manfully resists the urge to tell him how cute he is. Again.

“Can I see the kittens?” 

There is a microscopic pause, and then Felix shifts over, rolling on to his back. “...I guess,” Felix mutters.

The kittens are _very_ cute. There’s a little grey one with long wild fur and its little pink tongue sticking out licking its own nose. “Oh man,” says Sylvain. “I wanna squish that little guy.”

“House cats would be the fiercest predators in the world, if they kept their behaviors but were the size of big animals,” says Felix.

Sylvain nudges him a little. “Adorable little murder babies,” he says.

“Exactly.”

 _What the fuck makes you tick?_ Sylvain wonders. Whatever it is, he’s really into it. 

“You should have gone with that girl at the venue tonight,” says Felix suddenly. “You’d have had a good place to sleep.”

“And get left behind _again_? Nah, I’m not that hard up for it,” says Sylvain.

“Dimitri would have made us wait for you,” says Felix. “He thinks you’re his responsibility. Like a baby bird that fell out of the nest, or whatever.” He turns his phone off and sticks it under the pillow, so now it’s just very dark and very quiet. Sylvain can hear the noises of Dimitri and Dedue going to bed, and the endless white noise of the road outside.

“Dimitri is…an interesting guy,” says Sylvain. He can feel Felix start to stiffen next to him, and adds quickly, “Not bad, _interesting_. I don’t get him. You guys really don’t need to worry about me. I don’t even worry about me. It’s a waste of energy.”

“Does anybody worry about you?” Felix asks.

“I mean, my parents, probably. They spent a ton of money on private school and polo lessons and donations to a university I dropped out of. They’re probably tearing their hair out. That’s the whole reason I dropped out to join a band. I like to really twist the knife. If they wanna worry, let ‘em have a real reason to worry, you know? Give ‘em something to worry about.”

“Will someone let them know you’re on the wrong bus this week?”

“Ingrid, probably. She’s responsible like that. Always cleaning up after me. Felix—” Sylvain turns in a little. He’s pressed against Felix because there’s really nowhere else to go, but also because he can tell Felix is a little cold, and Sylvain runs really hot. “One of the reasons I think you and me should fuck—”

Felix snorts.

“—is because a one-night stand is a _great_ way to have some fun, without getting dragged down in someone else’s bullshit. I don’t know your issues, but the nice thing about a quick no-strings-attached no-feelings fuck is that you don’t have to worry about it. No emotional entanglements. No worries. Just a good time.”

He kind of expects another lazy smack, but everything is quiet and still. 

“Felix?” Sylvain says eventually.

“Is that what you think people want?” Felix asks. His voice is very quiet. Measured.

“From me? Yeah.” Sylvain laughs a little.

Felix sighs. “Good night, Sylvain,” he says, and rolls away again.


	2. All talk and no action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Felix do some negotiating

Sylvain wakes up when Felix crawls across him, with more elbows and knees than feels necessary, and gets out of the bunk. Sylvain goes back to sleep for another couple of hours, because he has literally no responsibilities and nothing to do this week.

He does finally get up when the bus shudders and jerks and comes to a sudden stop. There’s some shouting going on, which sounds bad. Sylvain pulls on the jeans and sweater he wore yesterday.

“What happened?” he asks, as Annette rushes up to the front.

“Flat tire,” she says. 

Sylvain pulls on his sneakers and heads outside, where everyone else is already standing on the side of the road. They are in the middle of nowhere, cold and grey and flat in every direction, cars and trucks and buses whooshing by at top speed and vanishing down the highway. 

Dedue and Dimitri and Felix, and the couple of other guys who travel on the bus, are talking to the bus driver, who is on his phone. Felix is still in his pajama sweats, looking cold and furious. 

“What’s up,” says Sylvain.

“We’re gonna be here for fucking ever,” says Felix, hunching his shoulders. 

Sylvain steps closer to him. He hadn’t realized last night, but the bunk smelled like Felix, a particularly sharp, almost spicy pine needle kind of smell. “For warmth,” he says, edging right into Felix’s space.

“There is nothing to be done,” Dimitri says, grave and sad. “We must wait for Triple A.” 

“Fuck,” says Felix. “Maybe I’ll go for a run.”

Sylvain looks around. “Where? Like, literally down the highway and back?”

“It’s better than sitting around and waiting for hours and hours,” Felix snaps.

“Baby,” Sylvain says, “you have got to relax.”

“Felix isn’t good at relaxing,” says Dimitri.

“Oh, that’s fucking hilarious, coming from you,” Felix says.

“If I were to relax my vigilance, even for a moment, people could be hurt,” says Dimitri, looking hurt. “ _Again_.” 

Sylvain is close enough to feel Felix tense up, so he braces himself for an explosion. He can almost see the crackling lightning cloud forming around Felix. But then Felix says, “I’m going for a fucking run, fuck you,” and vanishes inside the bus.

“You know you didn’t make the tire go flat, right?” Sylvain asks.

Dimitri shakes his head. “I should have inspected it more closely. If the driver were less skilled, we might have all been injured. I have a responsibility—”

“Dimitri,” Annette sighs, “just come back on the bus and have coffee with me. I can cheer you up! We can go over setlists, or I can—”

“I will wait here,” says Dimitri, for all the world like he’s a one-man army defending the bus from invaders. 

Sylvain revises his estimation of the problem. It’s not just that Felix and Dimitri won’t talk to each other. It’s that Dimitri is actually a little bit delusional, and also stubborn, and also weird. He remembers Felix snapping, _Yeah it’s a bummer that my best friend lost his mind._

“I’m new here, so don’t mind me,” Sylvain says, keeping his tone light, “but uh, you might want to talk to someone about this guilt complex you’re burying yourself under.”

“You think we haven’t tried?” Annette asks, sounding exhausted. She tugs on his sleeve. “Come in and have some coffee. He won’t budge once he’s made his mind up.”

“I will wait with Dimitri,” says Dedue.

So Dedue and Annette enable Dimitri, by letting him do whatever he thinks he needs to do—not that he’s moveable, he’s a pretty huge dude—and Felix yells and insults, and no one is actually getting through to Dimitri at all. And, if Sylvain had to guess, Dimitri’s total lack of communication is hurting Felix’s feelings. 

“Wow, you guys are a mess,” says Sylvain, following Annette in.

Felix, changed into track pants, with earbuds in and a phone in his hand, shoves past him.

“Welcome to the Blue Lions,” sighs Annette.

—

“Basically,” Annette explains over a coffee, while Sylvain drinks his second Red Bull, “Dimitri thinks it’s his fault that Felix’s brother and his own parents died. So now he’s like, ‘If I ever sleep, or eat, or take one second off of working and training, everyone else I love will die.’ I know, I know, he needs a full-time therapist. We got him to see someone for a little while, but Dimitri just says stuff like ‘The dead are following me, they depend on me. I must never let down my guard.’” 

“And it didn’t seem like a good time to take some time off and let him recover?” Sylvain asks.

Annette laughs, but not in a fun way. “He won’t,” she says. “He told us if we didn’t want to tour he’d go on tour by himself, and honestly he’d last about two days before he totally collapsed or gave himself heart failure. Byleth said it seemed like the best way to keep an eye on him was to do the tour, but… I mean, it’s not going great.”

“And Felix?”

She hesitates for a long time. “Felix,” she says, and thinks for a minute. “So, the thing is,” she says, “Felix’s brother was like…this _amazing_ person. A Fulbright scholar, Stanford valedictorian, captain of the swim team, and head writer on the school paper, planning on law school to do work in international peacekeeping…”

Sylvain’s brother was shit, but it’s the same idea. “I get it,” he says. “And he resented him, but now he’s dead.”

“No,” says Annette. “Felix loved his brother. He thought Glenn was the best guy in the world. Everyone did. If you’d met Glenn you’d have promised to give up sleeping around forever for him. He was like… Goddess, Glenn was the best.”

“Oh,” says Sylvain, who had kind of forgotten that some people actually like their families.

“Felix isn’t Glenn,” says Annette.

“Obviously.”

“It’s tough,” Annette says insistently. “Everyone always compared them, but it was different when Glenn was alive, and Felix could jokingly say ‘just wait until I outdo him.’ Now that Glenn is dead, Felix is never going to catch up. And everything he does will always be overshadowed by what Glenn might have done. His father has been…not great about it.”

“And Dimitri is responsible for that,” Sylvain says, nodding.

“I mean, he’s not, but he thinks he is. So he keeps trying to make it up to Felix somehow, which… You can’t bring someone back from the dead. And Felix is just furious all the time, because his friend won’t be his friend anymore because of guilt. It’s a bad scene. They’re only so messed up,” she adds earnestly, “because they love each other.”

“Why didn’t I stumble onto a bus where someone just has some daddy issues and they want me to spank them in bed,” says Sylvain mournfully. 

Annette giggles. “Maybe Felix would be into that,” she says. “Have you asked him?”

“He does _not_ strike me as a ‘please spank me, daddy,’ type,” says Sylvain. He considers for a minute. He’s not gonna say it out loud, because Annette clearly loves to gossip, but it does seem entirely likely that Felix is so closed off and uncertain that he might just love having someone else take the reigns and tell him what to do. He might like having someone take off all the pressure of having to decide or ask for things. 

Or maybe Felix just likes to punch people in the face. Sylvain could kind of see that, too. 

“Why Felix?” asks Annette. “Why not me, or Dimitri, or Dedue? Am I not cute?” She sticks her lower lip out and pouts.

“You’re adorable,” says Sylvain, “but I don’t usually go for people who are happy with their partners. I’d go for Dimitri but as near as I can tell human pleasure is the literal last thing on his mind. Dedue… Listen, he’s hot as fuck, but he only has eyes for Dimitri.” 

“Those are fair points,” says Annette, sipping her coffee. “It’s just, most people don’t look at Felix and say, ‘He’s cute, I don’t mind that he’s an asshole literally every second of the day to me.’”

“Ah, but _you_ told me he was actually a marshmallow,” Sylvain points out. “Also, he’s very, _very_ cute.” 

Annette giggles. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but Felix seems like a guy with a _lot_ of steam to let off, who hasn’t had an outlet to do that in…a while,” Sylvain says.

“It’s definitely none of my business,” says Annette, “but I’m not correcting you, because you’re not wrong.”

Sylvain doesn’t have a chance to be smug because Felix comes back through the bus, sweaty and red-faced and looking like a serious snack. “Still no Triple A?” he mutters, as he pushes past them. “Fuck.” 

“I think perhaps running isn’t quite doing the trick,” says Annette. “Maybe you could help.”

“That is my goal,” says Sylvain, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back against the wall of the bus. “Three days is a tight schedule, but I think I can pull it off.”

“You better,” says Annette, “because I made a bet with Ingrid and Byleth.” For a second Sylvain is honestly shocked—she looks so innocent!—but she just twinkles at him and skips away outside the bus.

“No offense,” Sylvain shouts back to Felix, “but your whole band is insane.”

“None taken,” Felix shouts back. “‘Cause you’re right.”

—

It takes four hours to get the tires changed, which means they'll miss the show tonight. Everyone’s really bummed out, and Dimitri has retreated inside his own head, muttering angrily to himself about what he should have done differently. Annette tries to get everyone to play cards, but Dimitri refuses and Dedue doesn’t pay any attention to the cards because he’s watching Dimitri, and Felix cheats.

“Being extremely skilled is not cheating,” Felix smirks.

“You can’t be _this_ much better than me,” says Sylvain, throwing his cards down on the little table. 

“Can’t I?” Felix asks. 

“At least make it strip poker,” Sylvain suggests, for the tenth time.

“Um,” says Annette, “speaking as someone who has also folded the last two hands, no thanks.”

So then there's nothing to do for what feels like forever. Sylvain doesn’t have a phone or anything to do. Felix is doing whatever he does—looking at kittens online, probably—on his phone, Annette is texting her girlfriend, Dimitri is staring daggers at the universe, and Dedue is frowning gently at Dimitri.

“I’m bored,” says Sylvain. It’s not a very big couch, so when he leans back, he ends up in Felix’s lap. This isn’t a coincidence.

“So?” says Felix, trying to shove him off. There’s really nowhere to shove him to, though. 

“We could kill some time making out,” Sylvain suggests helpfully.

“Ugh,” says Felix. “Get off me.”

“Nah,” says Sylvain, and Felix stops shoving him anyway. Sylvain looks at Annette. “Text your girlfriend, ask her if it’s cool if we make out.”

“Oh my god,” says Felix. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“I could make you feel incredible, if you’d let me, sweetheart,” says Sylvain, grinning up at him.

“Overconfident,” mutters Felix, looking at his phone.

“Do you want references?” Sylvain asks.

Felix rolls his eyes. “As if you have phone numbers for anyone you’ve slept with? Let alone names.”

That stings. “Hey,” says Sylvain. “I have plenty of texts for booty calls! I just don’t text them back, because of my strict no-repeat-business rule. But everyone knows what they’re getting into. Everyone has a great time.”

“Or so you think,” says Felix. “It’s easy to assume everyone was satisfied if you don’t stick around to ask them.”

Sylvain is genuinely offended that Felix thinks he might have left someone somewhere with an inadequate orgasm. “Take your pants off right now,” he orders, “I’m gonna show you a thing or two about _satisfied_.”

“Guys,” says Annette, pained.

“I am sure everyone involved has an orgasm,” says Dedue, out of nowhere. “That may not be what Felix means.”

Sylvain has to sit up. Dedue just voluntarily spoke about something. “What?” he asks.

“Many partners also require emotional fulfillment,” Dedue clarifies. 

“As I keep saying, I’m not a _therapist_ ,” Sylvain grumbles. “I’m not offering a full-service office. You don’t go to McDonalds to buy a horse. You know what you came for. Heh, did you hear, _came_ —”

“We heard,” says Felix flatly.

Dedue shrugs and goes back to looking at Dimitri.

“Is that what you’re holding out for?” Sylvain asks Felix. “A deep and meaningful emotional connection?” He can’t help that it sounds a little teasing.

Felix rolls his eyes. “I’m just not interested in being part of yet another person’s self-destruction,” he says. 

“Maybe you haven’t heard, sex is _fun_ , actually—” Sylvain starts, but Felix looks up and then straight through him, with a knowing _come on, now_ shake of his head.

Ouch.

“Your loss.” Sylvain shrugs, because he can only take so much in one conversation. Felix looking at him like he understands him? It’s hurtful. 

“Really,” says Felix dryly. “You’re done hitting on me?”

“I am regrouping and reconsidering my tactics,” says Sylvain.

“Oh,” says Felix. “Right. Of course.”

—

By the time they get to town the restaurants are closed. Everyone on the bus goes to a Denny’s, because it’s open twenty-four seven, and it’s cheaper than ordering room service at the hotel.

“I can’t wait for a shower,” Felix says. He turns to Sylvain before he can even start. “Alone.”

Sylvain shrugs. “You want me to sing U and Ur Hand? I’ll do it.”

“Didn’t Byleth tell you not to be so annoying that you get killed?” Annette asks sweetly.

“Felix isn’t really mad, he’s just all _worked up_ ,” Sylvain says, with what he thinks is a pretty charming leer. Felix smacks him on the shoulder. 

The thing is, though, Felix doesn’t move away from him on the plastic, overstuffed bench seat. And he looks up at Sylvain with a little smirk, but he’s looking up through his long, dark lashes, with what is _absolutely_ an invitation in his eyes. 

Sylvain can’t tell if Felix knows what he’s doing, though. Sylvain’s mouth goes suddenly dry. He grabs a plastic cup of water and chugs it.

Dimitri reaches for something across the table and somehow he pushes it too hard and a pitcher of water and syrup crashes across the table and into Felix’s lap.

“Fuck, Dimitri!” Felix shouts, jumping to his feet. 

“My apologies,” says Dimitri immediately. “I will pay for the dry cleaning and make this right, Felix. I will buy you new clothes if required. I will—”

“Why,” Felix says, seething, “can’t you ever just say ‘I’m sorry’ like a normal person?”

“I am beyond sorry,” says Dimitri, sounding a little offended. “I am apologizing to you most sincerely, most vehemently. I am offering you—”

“Goddess,” says Felix, “even when things really _are_ your fault you’re still insufferable.” 

Annette chides, “He’s trying to be nice, Fe.”

“And since when have I ever wanted anyone to be nice to me?” Felix snaps at her. She blinks and recoils a little bit, and the anger drains out of Felix so quickly that Sylvain can actually see it. “Annette—” he starts.

“No, it’s fine,” says Annette, in a very tiny voice.

“Fuck,” says Felix, and turns and storms out.

Dimitri sighs. “Nothing I do is ever right.”

Sylvain has like, a twelve-step program for explaining to Dimitri why everything he said was the absolute wrong thing to say, but he’ll save it for later. “I’m gonna,” he says, standing, and shrugs and doesn’t finish, because he’s obviously following Felix outside.

Felix is sitting on the curb by the parking lot, shivering and pretending not to. He’s under a street light. The parking lot is mostly empty, except for their bus. Felix has his knees up almost under his chin, and his arms around his knees, and Sylvain seriously can’t believe he quit smoking because this would be such a perfect moment for a cigarette.

“Uh,” says Sylvain, staying a non-threatening distance away, hands in his pockets. “You okay?”

“Do not,” Felix snarls, “treat me like I’m fragile right now.”

Sylvain does what he always does, and goes for a joke. “Usually I like being damp and sticky,” he says. “I don’t know about you.”

Felix groans and puts his head down on his knees.

Sylvain wants to kiss the back of his neck. He restrains himself. He does edge over a little closer, though, and sits on the curb. He’s close enough that if Felix leaned a little, he could hit him. But not close enough for anything else, really.

“I just want him to act like a human being,” Felix says, muffled. “I want him to treat _me_ like a human being. I want my friend back.” 

“Have you told him that?” Sylvain asks.

Felix looks up and glares at him. “He said, ‘This is yet another way in which I have wronged you, Felix.’” He does a passable Dimitri imitation. “I can’t fucking spend another month living an inch away from someone who I don’t even recognize. Someone who I used to know better than—than—”

“He’s going through the shit,” says Sylvain quietly. A car alarm goes off on the far end of the parking lot. Eventually it stops again. “You can’t fix him, and you can’t bring back who he used to be.”

“I know,” says Felix furiously. His eyes are sparkling a little under the streetlamp. Sylvain pretends not to notice when Felix brushes a tear off his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Ah, fuck it, Sylvain thinks. “My brother,” he says, “was such an asshole. Like, he tried to kill me a couple of times when we were kids, because he thought mom and dad loved me more. And he was probably right about it. My parents are assholes, too. But he was my brother, and I loved him anyway, like a moron.”

“Okay,” says Felix, frowning.

“And then he—anyway, he’s dead. He overdosed. I kind of knew it was happening. I heard from people who’d heard from people that…that stuff wasn’t great. And I called him. I tried to talk to him. I tried to tell my parents. I tried to tell the school counselors. Nothing I did mattered at all. You don’t know what helpless feels like until someone you love is hurting, and you’re just…” He trails off.

Felix is resting his cheek on top of his knees, head turned to look at Sylvain. “Yeah,” he says eventually. His voice is a little raspy again.

Sylvain shrugs. “I don’t have any advice, here. Everything I did was wrong. Do the opposite of whatever you think I’d do.”

Felix, for some reason, cracks the tiniest smile at that. Sylvain gives himself another imaginary sticker for that accomplishment. 

“You never give yourself a break, huh?” Felix says. 

“Me? I don’t need one,” says Sylvain, smiling easily. “My whole life has been breaks I didn’t deserve.”

Felix moves enough to jostle him with his elbow. “You’re so full of shit,” he says. “I know why Dimitri thinks what he did was unforgivable, but you didn’t do anything wrong here.”

“Nah, it gets worse,” says Sylvain. “After Miklan died my parents basically said, ‘See, we always knew he was no good.’ They acted like I was this perfect, brilliant, golden child. Bought me a car, bought me a horse, sent me to Europe for summers, turned a blind eye to everything I was actually doing. I couldn’t stand it. Now…now people treat me how I deserve. I make sure of it.”

“Fuck,” says Felix. “Maybe you got on the right bus after all. Welcome to the fucking mess club.”

Sylvain inches closer. “That’s why you should let me make you feel better,” Sylvain suggests. He’s close enough to see Felix shiver a little. Close enough to see when the blush starts creeping across his cheeks.

“Oh, it’s for _my_ sake,” Felix scoffs, but quietly, without any heat.

“Let me warm you up,” Sylvain suggests, inching even closer. He could count Felix’s eyelashes now, if he wanted to. He kind of wants to. He reaches up and pushes a stray lock of hair behind Felix’s ear, and Felix shivers again.

The cold curb is seeping through Sylvain’s jeans, so Felix must be frozen. Sylvain moves in close enough to press their sides together, knees and hips and shoulders lined up next to each other. Felix is still watching him, not moving, eyes big and reflecting the street lamp over their heads. 

“You have to give me some kind of sign here, sweetheart,” says Sylvain quietly.

Felix sighs and sits up. “I’m not…” he says, and trails off. He looks down at his sneakers. He says, like it’s hard to get the words out, “It’s not that I’m looking for some big emotional…whatever. But I… I just…” He looks up again, asking Sylvain a question Sylvain’s not sure he’s reading right.

“You just what,” says Sylvain, leaning in. Felix sways a little closer. His eyes flicker down to Sylvain’s mouth, and his cheeks get pinker. 

Felix whispers, “I’m still not gonna fuck you,” and then he leans in and kisses Sylvain. 

Sylvain has been pushing and pushing for this, but somehow he’s still surprised when it happens, and he makes a startled little noise against Felix’s mouth. Felix laughs, which is the warmest, softest sound Sylvain has ever heard.

Sylvain chases that noise, kissing the laughter right out of Felix’s mouth, pressing in because Felix is pressing in, too. He’d thought Felix might be hesitant, maybe reluctant. Felix is demanding, and apparently completely sure of what he wants. One of his hands grabs Sylvain’s sweater, pulling him in even closer.

They kiss until Sylvain has to lean back to breathe. His lips feel a little tingly. “Damn,” says Sylvain, “I’m impressed.

Felix huffs half a laugh and then makes a face and scowls at the ground. “I knew you had low standards,” he says.

“Baby, no, that was great. Let’s do it again,” says Sylvain, leaning in.

Felix leans back, and the hand that was clutching Sylvain earlier changes to stiff-arm him. “I’m good,” he says.

Sylvain’s heart plummets with disappointment. “What? Even if you don’t wanna fuck, that was good! Wasn’t that a nice way to forget about your problems for a while? Come on,” Sylvain whines.

“I’m still gross from Dimitri knocking half a table of condiments on me,” says Felix. “It’s cold out here. And you’re some kind of sex maniac. I’m good, that was enough.”

Sylvain’s mouth drops open in surprise. It’s not like he _always_ gets glowing reviews and requests for a second act, but…actually yeah, he does.

Felix stands up, brushing dirt off his jeans, and then sticks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and walks back inside.

There shouldn’t be a way for Sylvain to be twice as determined to sleep with Felix as he was before, but, well, here they are.

—

It’s an okay hotel, with paper-thin walls. Dedue and Dimitri have a room with two beds, and Annette has a room, and Felix’s room has two beds, so Sylvain feels like it’s not a huge surprise when he ends up following Felix again. Felix ignores him. He has this perfect posture, standing up so straight that he seems like he should be taller than he is. 

“I’m showering,” says Felix, “and then I’m going to bed. And no, I’m not interested in any funny business.”

Sylvain sits on the empty bed by the window and pouts. “You’re killing me, here, Fraldarius,” he says. 

Felix glares at him, but there’s a tiny little secret smile somewhere layered underneath that. “Good,” he says, and locks himself in the bathroom.

Sylvain lies back on the bed, hands behind his head, elbows wide, and stares at the ceiling. He can hear voices through the wall—sounds like Dimitri and Dedue having some kind of intense conversation. He can almost make out words. Not that he’s an eavesdropper, but there’s literally nothing else to do. 

Eventually Felix comes out of the shower, wearing sweatpants but shirtless, toweling his hair, which is longer than Sylvain would have thought. Goddess, Sylvain thinks, he’s _so_ beautiful. 

“Okay,” says Sylvain, “how about a performance review, then. What was so bad about that kiss—which I thought was pretty good, actually—that you never want to do it again?”

Felix sits down on the other bed. Sylvain was right; he’s all muscle. He drops his wet towel on the floor, and Sylvain winces. 

“I didn’t say it was bad,” says Felix. “And…I didn’t say I never want to do it again.”

“Not to brag, but _usually_ people want to keep kissing me,” Sylvain argues. “Most of the time they want to keep going, get naked, see what all the fuss is about. So tell me what you want, boss. Should I have gone in tongue first? Climbed into your lap? Pulled your hair?”

“Fuck you,” says Felix, turning pink.

That’s not a no. Sylvain pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Well?”

“Well…” Felix echoes. He grabs a hoodie from his bag and pulls it on. What a shame, Sylvain thinks. “The kiss was fine. I liked it.”

“Yeah?” Sylvain asks hopefully, sitting all the way up.

“Fuck you,” says Felix again. He’s so cute when he’s embarrassed, and he’s embarrassed whenever he says anything even vaguely positive about anything. “It’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” Sylvain pushes. “Because if you kiss me you’re gonna wanna let me make you see stars? That’s the _good_ part! And then you can get rid of me.”

“No,” says Felix. “Because you keep telling me that after you sleep with people you never bother with them again. And…I kind of like you. So.” He shrugs. “I’m not gonna sleep with you. So why kiss you?”

“You…kind of _like_ me?” Sylvain repeats, truly dumbfounded. “What?”

“Nothing. Shut up. Good night.” Felix turns the light by the bed off, and the room goes dark.

“Tell me again that you _kind of like me_ ,” Sylvain says. “I liked it.” He can’t remember anyone saying that to him in…years? Longer? 

“Fuck _off_.”

Sylvain sits there, reeling, for a long time. 

—

Sometime during the night, Dimitri’s screams wake Sylvain up. First Sylvain thinks he’s having a nightmare, then he wakes up a little more and realizes someone in the next room is having a nightmare. One so loud, so intense, that Sylvain can actually make out words. He hears “Father” and “step-mother” and “Glenn” and “sorry” in various combinations, along with “I promise,” and “I will.” Mostly, though, it sounds like Dimitri is crying.

Sylvain doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to wake Felix up and ask if this happens a lot. He doesn’t want to go knock on the door and ask if Dimitri is okay, he barely knows the guy. He doesn’t want to lie there and listen, like some kind of creep. But it goes on, and on, and on.

Eventually Sylvain puts a pillow over his head and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to listen to his own breathing instead of anything else, and eventually, some time long after that, he falls asleep again.

—

“Hey,” says Felix, “Get up.”

When Sylvain opens his eyes again Felix is dressed and has his hair up, which is disappointing. One of these mornings Sylvain wants sleepy, soft, rumpled Felix, who presumably won’t be glaring at him like this.

Sylvain groans and puts an arm over his face. “I didn’t sleep so well,” he says.

“Poor baby.”

He can hear the smirk in Felix’s voice. That also tells him that Felix didn’t hear Dimitri last night. Maybe he knew it was coming and had ear plugs or something. “How was I supposed to sleep with someone so sexy just a few feet away?” Sylvain asks.

Felix throws something at him. Feels like a pillow. 

Sylvain drags himself up and throws his clothes in the plastic bag he’s using as a suitcase for the week. By the time he gets downstairs they’ve all assembled on the bus. Sylvain climbs on, glares at Dimitri a little bit, and collapses face-down in Felix’s bunk. 

It smells like Felix, and Sylvain thinks about pine needles and spice as he dozes off. 

—

Sylvain drags himself up sometime around lunch, which is sandwiches Dedue has made for everyone. “We have to talk,” says Sylvain, pointing at Felix.

Felix rolls his eyes. 

“Ooooh, what are we talking about?” Annette asks. 

Sylvain feels creaky; sleeping in all the wrong places, no one to cuddle, no Ingrid to make sure he’s actually eating and sleeping and not getting into too much trouble. His shoulder hurts and his head kind of hurts and he’s been bored for two straight days. Also: celibate. 

“He _likes_ me,” says Sylvain, dropping onto the little bench by the fold-up table, arms crossed. This feels like it needs discussion. Who would say such a thing, and why?

Annette’s eyes go very big, and Dedue, in the middle of making a sandwich, freezes.

“I think you were dreaming,” says Felix, looking at his phone. His cheeks are pink again.

“You said you _like_ me.”

“I said _kind of_. And I’ll take it back.”

Sylvain looks to Annette for sympathy. “He dropped that bomb and then went to sleep! And then made fun of me for not being able to sleep. As if I wasn’t _pining_ and _longing_ all night long.”

Annette giggles. “I can’t exactly picture you pining,” she says.

“You’re seeing it right now,” says Sylvain. He puts his hands on his heart. “I am _in love_. I am pining, desperately, tragically. He _kind of likes me_ , Annette! We’re gonna have to start planning a wedding.”

“Fuck,” says Felix, blushing furiously and looking furious about it, “I’m sorry I ever said anything to you. I hate you. Fuck.” Felix kicks him under the table. Hard.

“It’s too late,” says Sylvain. “You can’t take it back now. I know that deep down in your heart somewhere you kind of like me. Next stop: fuck city! I’m in, baby!”

Dimitri pops up from whatever he’d been doing at the back of the bus. Flagellating himself, maybe. “I am truly pleased to hear that you have formed a bond,” he says. He looks awful. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his whole face has the look of a man who hasn't had a good night’s sleep in years. 

Everyone in the band already knows about Dimitri’s issues, Sylvain figures, so he doesn’t need to make it weird by bringing it up. “Thanks,” says Sylvain. “Honestly, this might be the most meaningful connection I’ve made with another human being. I’m overwhelmed.”

Dimitri cracks half a smile at that, looking just a little less haunted for a brief moment. Sylvain sees Dedue noticing that, and the relief on his face.

Sylvain could do this, actually. He could stick around with this band, lightening the mood, forcing them to stop agonizing and worrying about each other for a little while every day. He can see himself fitting in here long-term: teasing Felix, conspiring with Annette, cooking with Dedue, dragging Dimitri out of his own head. 

It’s a beautiful vision of a future that Sylvain can’t have and doesn’t deserve, so he shuts it down. He’s got his own band, even if their tour is over in a couple more weeks. He’s got his own big empty apartment to go home to. He’s got songs to write, strangers to pick up at bars, parents to disappoint. What would Ingrid do without him around to drive her crazy every minute of the day? Actually meet someone she could fall in love with and be happy? Pffft. Sylvain has multiple lives to ruin. He’s busy.

His apartment is so big and empty that there’s plenty of space for Felix. And a cat. Maybe two cats. Sylvain sighs a little.

“What?” asks Annette. 

“His joke ran out of steam,” says Felix. “He almost experienced a real feeling for half a second and it scared him.”

What scares Sylvain is how easily Felix reads him. “I feel real feelings all the time,” Sylvain scoffs. “Lust. Attraction. _Kind of liking_ someone.” 

Felix kicks him again. Sylvain is going to have a serious bruise. At least that’ll be something to remember Felix by.

—

They get to town well ahead of schedule, and Dimitri insists on inspecting the venue, and their equipment, and spending a good long time setting up as if it’s all life or death. “He’d feel so much better if he got a good night’s sleep,” Sylvain says to Dedue, with meaningful eyebrows.

“I agree,” says Dedue.

They’re both standing by the stage, watching Dimitri obsessively raise and lower the high hats and rearrange cables while he mutters angrily to himself. “Have you ever considered…” Sylvain starts. “Never mind. I’m a guest. None of my business.”

“When has that ever stopped you?” Felix snorts, walking past them. 

Dedue says, “If you have a suggestion I am all ears.”

Sylvain sighs. “It might not work, but…have you considered trying to get him to wear himself out a little? Take him to the hotel’s gym, make him lift until he can’t stand up. Or hell, take him to bed and pound him into the mattress until he can’t see straight.”

There is a silence.

Sylvain throws his hands up. “Just an idea,” he says. “I mean…you stare at him a lot. And I don’t think he’d _mind_. Tell him he’s doing you a favor.”

“Dimitri and I…” says Dedue stiffly, and then stops. 

“Yeah,” says Sylvain. “Lemme guess. It’s complicated.”

“If I thought it would truly help him,” Dedue says, “I would do anything.”

“I know. I can tell.” Sylvain sighs. “Someone has to do something, is all I’m saying. If he’s not getting better, maybe you need to try something different. Maybe you need to let him know that you care about him as much as he cares about you. Some people don’t hear words like they hear actions.”

“Hm,” says Dedue, frowning.

Sylvain isn’t cut out for this, he keeps telling them he’s nobody’s sex therapist; he’s just tired and frustrated watching how tired and frustrated everyone in this damn band is. “I’m gonna buy a drink,” he says. “You want one?” Dedue shakes his head. “Hey!” Sylvain shouts. “Felix! Buy me a drink!”

The bar is empty because the venue isn’t open yet, but the venue owner pulls a couple of beers out of the fridge for them. “You’re not going to tell Annette that this is a date, right,” says Felix flatly. 

Sylvain bats his eyes. “Is it a date?”

“No.”

“Could it be a date? We could try that kiss again. Give me more than a minute or two, I’ll blow your mind, I swear.”

Felix leans against the bar, arms crossed. “So you want me to give you a whole night, and then you’ll, what, vanish? When I said I kind of like you,” he says, “I meant when you aren’t being an asshole. Or hitting on me.”

“You like it when I hit on you,” says Sylvain.

Felix shrugs, but he turns a little red, too. “It’s cute, I guess, but you act like that’s all you are. I liked the guy who talked about his brother. I liked the guy who was just talking to Dedue about real human feelings and concerns.”

“I finally figured out our problem,” says Sylvain. “You’re looking for me to do _more_ than just hit on you. You’re gonna be looking for a long time.”

Felix elbows him. “Full. Of. Shit,” he says. 

“I’m gonna go hang with Annette. She’s _nice_ to me.” 

Felix shouts after him, “You owe me like nine beers, asshole!” Sylvain grins at him over his shoulder and flips him off.

—

The show is good. Sylvain has some notes, mainly that Dimitri needs to stop drumming like he’s committing the murders of everyone who’s ever wronged him, and that Felix would be prettier if he’d stop scowling at his bass for the whole show. Sylvain can’t believe that by this time tomorrow he’ll be back with his own band, and he’ll never see these people again.

He especially can’t believe that tonight is basically his last chance to get Felix into bed, and he’s feeling pretty fifty-fifty about his chances. Felix is giving off every signal that he absolutely wants to, but also that he absolutely won’t. 

Why does this band hate themselves so much, Sylvain wonders.

He has a couple of beers and flirts with a couple of girls, but half-heartedly, and when Felix gets off stage Sylvain follows him around the venue like a lost puppy, until Felix finally turns around and snaps, “What?” at him. 

“Nothing,” says Sylvain, giving Felix the big sad eyes.

“What?” Felix repeats, gritting his teeth.

“Can’t I just want to spend time with my friend?” Sylvain asks mournfully.

Felix punches him in the shoulder. 

“Feeeeeelix,” Sylvain whines. “I’m bored, and you’re so hot. Make out with me. C’mon. Just a little?”

“Ugh,” says Felix, elbowing him away. “Go find a girl somewhere.”

“I had one,” says Sylvain. “I don’t want one. I want _you_.”

Felix freezes for a split second and then scoffs, “Don’t be stupid. Any warm body.”

“Noooo,” Sylvain says, “ _your_ warm body.” 

He puts his arms around Felix. He’s tall enough for them to be comfortably over Felix’s shoulders, so he can hang off of Felix, who shrugs angrily and huffs, “I’m _sweaty_.”

“I love it,” says Sylvain. 

“Gross,” says Felix, but he stops trying to shrug Sylvain off. 

“Can I lick your neck?” Sylvain asks. “I had a couple of beers,” he explains, “and you smell great.”

“I smell disgusting,” says Felix, crossing his arms. “You’re weird.”

“Sure, but can I lick your neck?” He presses his nose to the back of Felix’s hair, where wisps of hair are escaping from his bun. He’s not lying; Felix smells great. Spicy. Maybe Sylvain is just horny and tipsy, who knows. 

“People are looking,” mutters Felix.

“Oh, Felix, lemme fix that problem,” says Sylvain. He backs up a few steps, dragging Felix along with him, and it’s not too far from where they were standing near the bar at the back of the crowd to into the hallway that leads backstage. The walls are covered in peeling paint and old band posters and sharpied graffiti. There are guys walking back and forth with equipment, but not too many of them.

Sylvain lets go of Felix just long enough to turn him around and back him up against the wall. Sylvain puts his hands on either side of Felix’s shoulders and leans in. He bites—gently—and then licks the spot where Felix’s neck meets his shoulder, and Felix’s head jerks back, hitting the wall.

Felix gasps, and then looks angry, but his hips rock forward against Sylvain. “Would you like me to do that again?” Sylvain whispers against Felix’s neck. 

“Fuck,” says Felix. He’s got his eyes closed tightly, and he’s breathing hard. “I—fuck— _yes_.”

Sylvain considers ripping Felix’s hoodie right off with his teeth. Felix would be pissed, probably, though. So Sylvain tugs on it, instead, getting a little more skin, kissing Felix’s neck again, scraping his teeth on the skin, pressing Felix back against the wall when he shudders. Sylvain kisses his way up Felix’s neck and then down his jaw. Felix is breathing so hard you’d think he was running a marathon. His skin is flushed and his pretty mouth is hanging open a little. Sylvain is gonna write his next song about the way Felix arches his back. 

Sylvain’s mouth rests right next to Felix’s mouth. “I’m gonna kiss you again,” he says. “Unless you’re about to tell me no.” 

He waits. He leans, feeling Felix’s chest rise and fall against his own. Sylvain’s skinny jeans are getting pretty uncomfortable, and he shifts his hips a little. Felix groans and grinds up against him.

“I usually wait for a yes,” says Sylvain. “But from you I’ll just wait for a ‘fuck off.’”

“Fuck off,” says Felix, furious and flushed and obedient. His eyes flutter open and he already looks a little wrecked. He’s glaring, but Sylvain thinks it’s a _hurry up and kiss me_ glare. 

He loves that glare.

Sylvain laughs and kisses him. He pushes Felix back, flush against the wall, and loves the way Felix surges up, angry and hot, against him. Felix wraps one arm around Sylvain’s back and the other hand tangles in Sylvain’s hair, tugging him down, pulling too hard. Felix kisses like he’s battling, like he thinks it’s something he can win, and Sylvain is happy to give him whatever he wants, but he thinks what Felix might want is for someone to fight with him. 

_Don’t treat me like I’m fragile_ , Felix said yesterday. Well, Sylvain isn’t. He shoves his knee between Felix’s legs and grinds down, while Felix grinds up, and sparks fly up Sylvain’s spine. It’s _good_. 

He puts one hand on Felix’s jaw and turns him, getting the right angle so he can make the kisses less competitive, deeper, hotter. Felix pushes up against him, making these angry little noises that are driving Sylvain insane. Felix doesn’t appear to be down with making this a group effort rather than a race. Sylvain can’t quite get what he wants from Felix, what he thinks Felix probably wants to give him. 

“Felix,” Sylvain pants against his mouth, “Felix, _baby_ , do you want to steer the ship, or do you want me to? I don’t think this is gonna work with two captains.”

Felix falls back against the wall and glares up at him. His mouth is beautifully bitten and his eyes are so dark under his lashes.

“We can take turns,” Sylvain suggests, when Felix doesn’t say anything else. “But we should decide for tonight, because…because I don’t want to fight you. I want to make you happy.”

“I like fighting,” growls Felix. He pushes up, biting more than kissing, until Sylvain pulls back again.

“Damn it,” says Sylvain, closing his eyes. “I want you _so badly_. You have to give me an inch here, Felix. I will happily lie down on this dirty floor, take all my clothes off, and let you stab me to death. Stand on my neck, Felix. I’m down for it.”

Felix drops his glare and looks at the floor. He’s still breathing hard, but his shoulders have come up just a little bit.

Okay, Sylvain thinks. That’s not it. 

“Or,” Sylvain says softly, as one of the roadies walks behind him, carrying an amp, “you can stop fighting me, and we can have a good time.” How to say this without it coming across as an insult, because if he accidentally insults Felix right now, he’s sure Felix will punch him and stalk away. “I know I’ve been bragging and talking a lot of shit,” says Sylvain. He kisses Felix’s jaw again, and Felix makes this sexy, hungry little noise. “But I swear, I really do know what I’m doing. You can trust me.”

“I can’t,” says Felix, but there’s no heat behind it. He looks up again. He’s looking for something in Sylvain’s face, but Sylvain doesn’t know what it is, and he thinks if he tries his usual big, phony smile right now Felix might walk away. Felix must find what he’s looking for, because his usual sharpness softens, just enough. Sylvain wouldn’t notice if he weren’t already learning Felix’s face by heart. “Hey,” says Felix, nudging him. He smiles, just a quirk to his mouth, a sparkle in his eyes. Sylvain almost gasps. Felix might honestly be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. “Fuck off,” says Felix, and bites his lip uncertainly.

It takes Sylvain about two seconds to remember that he told Felix to say that a couple of minutes ago, and two seconds after that for it to go straight to his dick. He groans and leans in and kisses Felix, and this time Felix lets him tilt his head back, lets him explore, lets him send his hands roaming up and down Felix’s sides without pushing and fighting. Felix just opens his mouth and melts into Sylvain.

God, it’s good. Sylvain could eat, sleep, and breathe Felix if he were allowed to. He’ll take this, though. He’s memorizing every inch of Felix he’s allowed to touch, every breathless, angry turned-on noise that Felix makes. He loves the way Felix makes a grumpy little noise when Sylvain stops kissing him for a minute, letting his mouth roam down Felix’s neck again. He loves how Felix shudders when Sylvain grinds against him, and how he glares like he’s furious Sylvian hasn’t finished what he started yet. But he especially loves how Felix wordlessly tips his head back to give Sylvain better access when he kisses under Felix’s ear. He especially loves how Felix has gone a little boneless, falling into Sylvain like he trusts Sylvain to hold him up, no matter what he says.

The crowd is screaming on the other side of the wall. People walk by. Oceans rise; empires fall. Sylvain kisses Felix until he’s forgotten how to breathe, and then he kisses him some more. And when he finally does pull back, because the room is spinning and all the blood in his body has inconveniently gone into his jeans, he rests his forehead against Felix’s and drinks in the wrecked look on Felix’s face, and the breathless noises he’s still making. 

“Pretty good, right?” says Sylvain eventually, when he’s got his voice working. He sounds a little raw.

“I bet you can do better,” says Felix, half a joke and half a challenge, tipping his face up.

Sylvain laughs and kisses him, but just a brief one this time. “Felix,” he says, “if we keep doing this I’m either gonna come in my jeans, or drop to my knees and suck you off here in front of every tech guy in Ohio.” Felix shouldn’t be able to blush, when he’s already flushed and sweating, but he manages it. “I only have this one pair of jeans,” Sylvain says. “Have mercy.”

“No,” says Felix, but he sighs and slumps back against the wall again. “I should have known you were all talk and no action.”

“ _Felix_ ,” says Sylvain, truly pained. “I would like to bang you up against and straight through this wall. _You’re_ the one who keeps telling me we’re not gonna fuck. I am _respecting you_.”

Felix sighs loudly. “Fuck,” he says. “Right.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, like he’s trying to wake himself up. He puts a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder and gives him a little push, and Sylvain steps back.

“Or…?” says Sylvain hopefully.

Felix makes a face and then glares at him. “No,” he says. “All my reasons are still good reasons.”

Sylvain is speechless for a minute, spluttering. He’d sort of hoped the hot make-outs would help make his case for him. “You really, seriously, _seriously_ still won’t sleep with me? Is this because you _kind of_ like me? Because that’s bullshit. I’m not looking for a friend. I don’t need those, I need some _action_. Let’s _do_ this.” 

Felix glares for real and ducks under Sylvain’s arm. “I like you a lot less when you’re an asshole.”

“You sure like me a lot when we’re kissing!” 

Felix shrugs. “Maybe if you could be sincere for ten seconds that don’t involve trying to fuck someone and then running away.” 

Fucking ouch. “Yeah, well maybe if you could admit to having one single moment of weakness where you let yourself be vulnerable!” Sylvain shouts back.

They stare at each other. There’s live music blasting through the walls, muffled but loud. A couple of guys push by them. 

Sylvain must have landed an actual hit there, because Felix looks genuinely hurt for a second, before he shuts down entirely. Sylvain is okay with that; Felix just hurt his fucking feelings, too. Sylvain can actually see the moment he decides he’s done. “Fuck you,” says Felix, and this time it isn’t cute.

“Fuck you, too!” Sylvain shouts after him. Felix disappears around the corner. Sylvain stands there for a long minute, angry and disappointed and feeling weirdly hollow inside. He punches the wall, but that just makes his hand hurt. Eventually he takes a couple of deep breaths and heads back into the venue to charm his way into a lot more free beer.


	3. What you deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions

Everyone gets back on the bus. Sylvain considers a random hook up, and decides against it. He’s not in the mood. Felix climbs immediately into his bunk and pulls the curtains closed, which is fine; Sylvain’s not actually planning to go in after him tonight. He’s too pissed.

As if _Felix_ should be lecturing anyone about dealing with their feelings sincerely. 

Sylvain borrows Annette’s phone and texts Ingrid a bunch of things. _I miss you_ , and _I can’t wait to get back to you guys_ , and _You miss me right?????_

She eventually replies _Oh no, what did you do_

Sylvain types out _Nothing!!!!!_ But he stares at it for a minute and backspaces. _I met a boy and I think I actually like him and he’s being a dickface_ , he types, and then deletes that, too. He just sends a sad emoji, and Ingrid sends back the eye-rolling emoji, which is pretty fair.

Eventually everyone else goes to bed, and Sylvain is sitting alone at the little fold-up table at the front of the bus, playing solitaire by himself and sulking. It’s pitch black outside except for the headlights of other cars every now and then. The roar of the road is pretty good white noise. He could maybe fall asleep here. It’ll be more comfortable than the night he spent on the floor. Psychically, at least.

Sometime very, very late, there’s a shout from the bunks, and then a gasp, and it doesn’t sound sexy, it sounds bad. Sylvain cranes his neck and is pretty unsurprised to see Dimitri climb out of his bunk. He looks awful. Haunted, maybe. There aren’t a lot of lights on, but the circles under his eyes stand out, as do the bruises all over his shirtless torso.

He’d be so hot under circumstances where he wasn’t so completely fucked up, Sylvain thinks. 

“Did I disturb you?” Dimitri rumbles, gravely apologetic.

“Nah,” says Sylvain. “I didn’t go to sleep yet.”

Dimitri sits down across from him at the table, and Sylvain deals him in for a hand of poker. “You and Felix seem to have…some tension,” says Dimitri.

They might as well have been screaming at each other when they climbed back on the bus, but Sylvain gets the sense that other people’s emotional problems don’t always register with Dimitri, so he gives him points for noticing. 

“Yeah,” says Sylvain. “We were having a pretty good time, and then he decided to be a dick about it, and then I doubled down on being a total asshole, and now I think we’re not speaking to each other. You know.”

“I do not,” says Dimitri, looking at his cards. “I rarely… I can’t…”

“You’re so stuck in your own head that it’s hard to think about things like making out or having a fight,” Sylvain suggests.

Dimitri nods. “You are very perceptive, Sylvain.”

“Me?” Sylvain laughs, a little bitter. “Nah.”

“You are truly and relentlessly negative about your own achievements and abilities,” Dimitri says, frowning. He puts a card down, takes one from the pile. Sylvain’s hand is total crap. “I have found you to be a good companion and a generous and kind person this week.”

“Yeah, if you really knew me you wouldn’t think so,” Sylvain says. waving him off, and puts down three cards. Ugh, his hand is still a mess. “I suck.”

“I know that Felix does not make new friends easily, nor does he have any interest in people who…suck.”

“I wore him down,” says Sylvain. “Don’t worry, he figured it out eventually.”

Dimitri sighs and looks down. “I admit, I am familiar with feelings of failure and self-hatred. But you—you could still fix things with him tomorrow.”

“Yup,” says Sylvain sarcastically. “Because Felix loves to apologize and listen to apologies. And I’m worth the time and effort.”

Dimitri winces. “You must not—”

“Dude,” says Sylvain, tired and trying to keep his voice quiet, but honestly pretty worn out. “You are not the one to lecture me on letting go and asking for forgiveness, okay? You spend every waking minute apologizing for something that—No, actually, not just every _waking_ minute, because even when you’re asleep you’re still stuck in all the stuff you feel guilty for. Everyone has told me pretty categorically that none of it was your fault, and you’re letting it ruin all your friendships. So let me ruin this one in peace, please.”

Dimitri looks pained. “It’s different,” he insists. 

“It isn’t,” says Sylvain, exhausted. “I heard what happened was awful. I can’t fucking imagine how awful. But torturing yourself isn’t making things better for anyone. Not for you. Not for Felix, who worries about you twenty-four hours a day. He hates the way you treat him now, like he can’t trust you, like you think he might shatter. Not for Dedue, who can’t sleep because you’re so fucked up who knows what you might do. Not for Annette, who’s trying to be a band-aid over all these problems all the time.”

“I…” says Dimitri stiffly. “I am beyond repair. I can only—”

“You’re _not_ ,” Sylvain almost shouts. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “You’re not. No one is. Maybe you saw a therapist a couple of times and it didn’t fix you. No one’s _fixed_. Go back to therapy. _Everyone_ is a little broken. You can keep working on it. You can let people help you. Take pills if it’ll help your brain work better, like you’d put a cast on a broken arm. Fuck, dude, I’m really, really no one’s therapist, but take a long vacation. Go to a tropical island with Dedue and fuck each other until you both feel better. _Give yourself a break._ ”

Dimitri stares at him, horrified or maybe angry or maybe embarrassed. It’s hard to tell anything he’s feeling except guilt and misery.

Sylvain’s chest hurts. Might as well blow up everything with everyone here, he figures. Maybe he’ll kick a puppy in front of Annette, or tell Dedue his cooking sucks. The only reason Ingrid has stuck around all these years is because she knows Sylvain from back when they were both kids; he’s good at sex, but he’s _amazing_ at wrecking relationships.

A few headlights pass. A truck somewhere honks. The road keeps on whizzing by outside.

“If no one is beyond repair,” says Dimitri quietly, “then perhaps Felix is right to want more from you, too.” He puts his cards down, stands up, and goes back to his bunk.

“That’s not what I meant!” Sylvain calls after him. There’s no reply. Sylvain sighs and throws his cards down on the table. He folds his arms on the table and puts his head down on top of them and tries to nap.

—

Someone kicks Sylvain’s foot, and he blinks. Every part of him is miserably stiff and his neck hurts like a son of a bitch. He turns and blinks up at Felix, silhouetted against the rising sun outside the bus windows.

“I’m up, if you wanna…go lie down,” Felix mutters. 

“Oh,” Sylvain croaks. “Thanks. I guess I’m too old to sleep wherever and wake up feeling good about it.”

Felix snorts a little. Sylvain slides out of the bench seat and stumbles back to Felix’s bunk. It smells like regret, now, at least to Sylvain.

He naps for a couple more hours, but he still feels like trash when he finally drags himself up. He splashes some water on his face at the little sink at the back of the bus, and tries to avoid looking at Felix, who is glowering at his phone, or Dimitri, who is staring out the window. 

“Food?” Dedue asks, offering him a sandwich. He looks tired, too.

“Sorry,” says Annette. “You’ve caught us on kind of an off week.”

“Sure,” says Sylvain, exhausted. “Thanks for letting me hang out this week. You guys have all been super great. I’m giving you a blanket apology for all the fucked-up stuff I did or said, and after I leave you have my absolute permission to talk shit about me forever.”

“Whatever,” Felix mutters, rolling his eyes.

The bus pulls into a hotel parking lot. The band is staying the night here after a show, but Sylvain will be grabbing a car that Byleth sent to finally get back to his band. He feels like he should say something else, something more profound, but he’s done a pretty great job at making half the band furious with him and he doesn’t really want to risk the other half. Sylvain collects the extra t-shirt he bought, and his toothbrush, and throws them in a plastic bag, and goes outside. There’s a bench in front of the hotel; he figures he can sit there for an hour or two until his car shows up.

“I had a great week, Sylvain,” says Annette. She gives him a kiss on the cheek. It’s cold outside the bus, so she grabs her bag and hurries into the hotel.

“I hope your tour continues well,” says Dedue gravely. His eyes always go back to Dimitri, struggling with everyone else’s luggage and equipment. 

“Tonight’s your last show, right?” Sylvain says. “I hope…yeah, I hope things start looking up for you, too.” He looks over at Dimitri, and he knows Dedue knows who he’s looking at and what he means.

“I think you have given him some things to think about,” says Dedue, and then goes to help Dimitri carry bags inside.

Sylvain sits down on the bench and stares at the sidewalk. He’s too tired to be charming. 

He’s a little surprised to feel the bench shift when someone sits down next to him. He’s entirely surprised to look up and see Felix, arms crossed, staring angrily across the parking lot. 

“I’m pissed at you,” says Felix.

“Yeah,” says Sylvain tiredly. “I’m pissed at you, too.”

Felix huffs. “You’re an asshole,” he says.

“I know, I’m insatiable—”

“ _No_ ,” says Felix crossly. “I mean you’re an asshole to yourself. All the time. If you want someone to be mean to you, just tell me. I’m great at it. I can make you feel like shit, I promise.”

Sylvain huffs a little laugh at that. “Thanks,” he says. “Next time I wake up on your bus after a night of heavy drinking I’ll be sure to ask you to put me in my place.”

“Happy to help.” Felix stops talking. Sylvain figures he’ll get up and walk away, because it’s so cold out, and he’s only wearing his hoodie, but Felix just keeps sitting there.

Sylvain sighs. He really can’t stand a long silence. “I can’t offer you anything,” he says. “I can’t tell you I’m gonna be a better person, or I’m gonna stop fucking up, or I’m gonna be nicer, or—”

“I didn’t say I like some imaginary version of you, I said I like _you_ ,” Felix snaps. “I can’t fucking believe you’re making me say it again. I’m not gonna say it a third time, I swear to the goddess. To be clear, I’m fine on my own, literally all of the time. But. …this is me, actually admitting I have a feeling. Okay? Happy?”

He sounds so sour, but he also sounds nervous. Sylvain glances over at him. He’s staring angrily at his sneakers.

“Yeah,” says Sylvain. He sighs. “What was the deal, you’d be vulnerable and I’d be sincere? I am sincerely sorry that I fucked things up with you. I like you, too. You’re not just hot—” Felix rolls his eyes “—You’re funny, and…I don’t know. If I were a different person, I think we could be friends. Good friends. I wish we’d had more than a couple of days.” 

“Well. We didn’t,” Felix says.

A car pulls up at the curb, and the driver sticks his head out the window. “Sylvain Gautier? Byleth sent me. You ready?”

“I am,” says Sylvain. He stands up and stretches. His back and his neck both feel like someone tied them into knots overnight. “Hey, give Dimitri a break,” he says to Felix. “I know you’re pissed because you love him, but he’s being a weirdo because he loves you, too.”

“You keep _saying_ you’re not our fucking therapist,” says Felix huffily.

“I could be your _fucking_ therapist,” Sylvain offers, trying to summon up the energy for a grin. “Get it? Therapy for fucking? Like, I could show you how to fuck better—”

“I get it,” says Felix. “And you can have it back.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Seemed like it was worth a shot. Take care of yourself, too, Felix.”

“Shut up,” says Felix, in a way that means _you, too_.

Sylvain waves to Dimitri, who he’d swear to god almost bows in return, and then he climbs into the car and resolutely doesn’t look back.

—

Ingrid, against all odds, is actually happy to see him. She gives Sylvain a hug and says, “Oh no, what did you _do_ , do I need to call someone and apologize for something?”

“I already apologized to him,” says Sylvain. 

“Him?” repeats Ingrid. 

He’s so embarrassed by the whole stupid thing. “I met someone I actually liked, so I basically told him I just wanted to fuck him and then fuck off, and he didn’t want that, so instead we just had a big dumb fight.”

Ingrid gapes at him. “And you _noticed_? Sylvain, you’re almost self-aware!”

“Be nice to me,” Sylvain whines, putting his head on her shoulder. “He was really hot.”

She pats his back. At least she’s pretending to be sympathetic.

“I’m trying to imagine you with a boyfriend,” says Dorothea. “Honestly, if anyone could put up with you for that long, and you actually let them stick around, I think it would be a good look for you.” 

“He’d have to let someone actually get to know him,” says Ashe sympathetically. “I get it, Sylvain. That’s scary.”

“Once they get to know him it’s all over,” Dorothea agrees. Sylvain flips her off, but honestly it’s kind of nice to be back with his actual band, the people who know him and give him shit, because they love him, but they also know he’s an asshole.

“Be nice,” Ashe says, but not like he thinks Dorothea actually will be.

“Maybe he was good practice for the next hot boy or girl,” says Ingrid. “And next time you won’t fuck it up so badly.”

“You really know how to find the silver lining,” says Sylvain. 

It’s the last show of the tour, so there’s a lot of energy, and once Sylvain lets himself get swept up in it he feels a little better. He missed having clean clothes that actually fit him, and his hair styling products, and his phone—his sweet, sweet phone. He has plenty of missed calls and texts. His parents have called a couple of times to let him know they’re disappointed, so he deletes those messages immediately. There are a few booty call texts he’s missed, and Sylvain doesn’t even consider before he deletes them, too. He’s not in the mood. 

“Cheer up,” says Dorothea, as they get ready backstage. Sylvain’s done a few vocal warm ups but he feels a little lost. It’s just… Stuff feels different. Emptier. “Lots of hot folks out there in the crowd tonight.”

“Cool,” says Sylvain, not particularly interested.

Dorothea puts a hand on his forehead. “Are you okay? Did you catch something out there on the road with the Blue Lions?”

“He caught _feelings_ ,” says Ingrid. 

“Oh noooo,” says Dorothea, “I hear that’s fatal.”

This would be a great place for Felix to pop up, Sylvain thinks, and snarl, “fuck off” at everyone in his band. They’d like Felix. He’s as sassy as they are. “Thanks for all the love, guys,” Sylvain says instead. “I missed you, too.” Dorothea sticks out her tongue.

Being on stage is everything. It always has been, for Sylvain. He loves the attention, he loves the way people watch him, he loves making eye contact with the crowd and knowing people are going home tonight longing for him. It feels good, and it’s especially good to turn around and see Ingrid beating the shit out of the drums, and Dorothea doing a crazy backbend while she plays bass. They’re assholes, but they’re _his_ assholes, and he loves them. Actually, Ashe isn’t an asshole, he’s a sweetheart, and he probably doesn’t deserve to get stuck with them. Sylvain likes to go over and put his head on Ashe’s shoulder while Ashe rocks out a solo, and sometimes, if the crowd is the right kind of crowd, he’ll pull Ashe into a kiss between verses. It always gets a scream, and Ashe deserves kisses. 

It just…isn’t quite the same, somehow. Sylvain loves it, thrives on it, gets off on it. But when he throws himself into the crowd he’s not looking to make eye contact with tonight’s hot hookup. His heart just isn’t in it. Singing, yes. Eye-fucking half the crowd? No.

He wants to see one particular face. He wants to be scowled at, kicked a little bit, maybe get told to shut up while someone glares and blushes. 

He never got to pull the tie out of Felix’s hair and hear what noises he makes when Sylvain tangles his fingers there and tugs. It’s a damned shame.

The show ends, sweaty and exhausting, and everyone hugs on stage, because even though they still have a couple of weeks left it feels like a reunion. “We missed you, you moron,” says Dorothea. “Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” Sylvain promises. “I’m here.”

He sticks around after the show to have a beer with Ashe and Ingrid. There’s a crowd of willing, excited, hot people, but Sylvain just shakes his head. Ingrid’s eyebrows could not be higher. Sylvain pretends not to notice her reaction. “Can we just head back to the hotel?” he says.

Ashe chokes on his beer.

Ingrid looks at Sylvain uncertainly. “Are... you okay?” 

“I’m great,” says Sylvain. “I haven’t had a decent bed to myself or a shower in a days.” He pretends not to see Ashe, wide-eyed, turn to Ingrid and mouth _A bed to himself?_

Whatever. They didn’t have a week as long as Sylvain’s had, and he doesn’t need to justify himself to them. They roll back to the hotel, and it actually is nice having a room to sleep in where he won’t hear anyone screaming all night, or have to listen to Felix breathing and pretend it doesn’t make him horny. He takes a nice long shower, and if he thinks about Felix and that kiss where he had Felix backed against the wall, well… That’s no one else’s business. 

Sylvain pulls on a pair of jeans and lies down on the bed, determined to enjoy his phone and a night where he can get some actual sleep, after last night’s bus bench debacle. His traitorous fingers google the Blue Lions almost immediately, and he flips through pictures to find one where Felix is glaring a little less, looking a little hotter, and saves it. No special reason. He just…wants it. If he’d had his phone this week he would have taken a ton of pictures. 

He never got to see sleepy, soft Felix, either, and he would have taken a thousand pictures just of that, if he could have. 

Someone knocks on his door.

He groans loudly, so Ingrid can hear that he’s irritated to be disturbed, even though he’s been alone for a solid hour and he’s already tired of it. She knows that. She knows him better than pretty much anyone, and she’d know he doesn’t really want to be alone.

“Fine, fine, you can come in, but only because I missed you,” Sylvain says, swinging the door open.

“Yeah?” says Felix. He’s wearing his leather jacket over his hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets, hair mostly pulled back, falling a little bit into his eyes. He’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder.

Sylvain stares.

“Eight hours and you already missed me,” says Felix. He’s looking at something down the hallway, but when Sylvain checks, there’s nothing down there. So he’s just…avoiding looking at Sylvain. 

“I did,” croaked Sylvain. Why isn’t his voice working right? “I… Yeah, I did.”

Felix still won’t look at him. “Am I disturbing you?” he says. “You and…whoever else is probably in there? I can go. This is stupid.” He turns.

Sylvain grabs his arm before he can even get a step away. “No one else is in here,” he says. “I’m trying a new thing where I’m spending time alone.”

“Oh,” says Felix uncertainly.

“I _hate_ it,” says Sylvain.

Felix cracks a tiny, tiny smile. He turns back, and finally looks up at Sylvain. Sylain can feel something inside his chest start to melt. “Oh,” says Felix again. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here.” 

“It’s the _best_ thing,” says Sylvain. He tugs on Felix’s arm, and Felix lets himself be pulled into Sylvain’s room. 

The door bangs shut behind them and Sylvain and Felix both just stop, staring at each other. Felix puts his bag down, and looks at the floor. The carpet is pretty ugly. Sylvain wishes Felix were looking at him, instead.

“You said,” Felix starts, and then stops and shakes his head. “ _Fuck_. You said you thought we could be friends, if you were someone different. And I don’t—I don’t want someone _different_. I just want you.”

Sylvain’s heart expands to ten times its normal size, and it’s beating like crazy, like he’s about to have a heart attack. But his voice has stopped working again, and when he opens his mouth no sound comes out.

Felix plows stubbornly on. “You said if we had more time… And I thought, maybe… Maybe if we had more time we could… We can... _Friends_ , at least, right, if you don’t still want to… I mean, that would be fine, maybe you just want to try having a friend you don’t want to fuck. I don’t care. I’m just… I thought I should come by and… Fuck. I hate this. I don’t know how to say any of this, I—”

It’s the most eloquent speech Sylvain has ever heard. Bless Felix’s stubborn, grumpy, marshmallow soul. No matter how little Sylvain deserves this, he isn’t going to waste it. “Of _course_ I still want you,” Sylvain says, when he gets his voice working. Felix scowls and blushes a little. “Friends, huh? I haven’t made a friend in forever. I haven’t tried spending _time_ with someone in… I don’t even know. I was gonna do you a favor by being gone before you could get sick of me, or figure me out, but—”

“But you already missed that bus,” says Felix, smirking. 

Sylvain bursts out laughing. “Oh, I love this. When you’re not telling me to fuck off now you’re making _jokes_?”

Felix finally looks back up at Sylvain, through his lashes, and this time Sylvain is sure he’s doing it on purpose. Sylvain puts his hands on Felix’s biceps and walks him backwards a couple of steps until his back bumps the door of the hotel room. 

Felix puts his chin up, stubborn, or ready for a fight or ready to be kissed. They all look the same on him, and Sylvain loves it. 

“How about you don’t do me any favors I didn’t ask for,” says Felix. 

“Oh, I’m gonna do you at least one favor tonight,” Sylvain promises. “Get fucking ready.” 

Felix laughs, so Sylvain has to kiss him. He smells like pine needles and he tastes like coffee and Red Bull and Sylvain is definitely going to fuck this up eventually, but not tonight. Not right now. Felix’s head bangs back against the door and he makes an outraged noise, but he also pushes up on his toes and kisses Sylvain back, hands on Sylvain’s bare shoulders.

A good and important point, Sylvain realizes, is that he’s half-naked and Felix is still wearing like, eighteen layers. Unacceptable. Luckily Sylvain is a pro; he can kiss like he needs to devour Felix entirely, and also unzip Felix’s dumb leather jacket and shove it off his shoulders, all at the same time. He can kiss and lick his way into Felix’s mouth until Felix is moaning and groaning and clutching him to stay upright, at the same time that he gets his hands up under Felix’s hoodie and t-shirt. He even has a plan for that—Sylvain pulls back to catch his breath and slides Felix’s shirt and hoodie off in one smooth motion. They get a little tangled up around his arms, which is fine with Sylvain; he pins Felix’s hands over his head, wrapped up in hoodie sleeves, and takes his time kissing his way down Felix’s beautiful bare neck and his tempting pale shoulders.

“Sylvain, hurry up,” Felix complains, pushing a little, but his leverage is all wrong like this. Sylvain has one hand on his hip, pushing him into the door, and one hand pinning his arms over his head, and Sylvain plans to take his time. 

“You made me wait _four days_ ,” Sylvain says, so Felix will know what unspeakable crimes he’s being punished for. “You walked around for _four days_ looking so fucking delicious I could barely breathe. And _now_ you want me to hurry?”

“You’re so stupid,” says Felix breathlessly.

Sylvain grins and bites his shoulder. Felix moans and melts a little more. “I love your pillow talk,” says Sylvain.

“Fuck you,” says Felix, closing his eyes and tipping his head back more, giving Sylvain better access to his neck. Sylvain is basically holding him up right now, and the caveman part of Sylvain’s brain would like to pick Felix up and throw him on the bed. But there’s so much skin he hasn’t gotten to taste yet, so many spots on Felix’s body he needs to touch first. He slides his leg between Felix’s to get that good friction going again, and kisses his way up the blush spreading down Felix’s neck, and then back down to scrape his teeth across Felix’s other shoulder, licking and kissing and sucking little bruises on to Felix’s skin. He’s so pale, he’ll mark up beautifully, and no one will ever see it except Sylvain because he’s always buried under a billion layers of clothes. 

“Any time you wanna take over running this show, you just let me know,” Sylvain says. Felix is almost purring under his hands. “I have about a thousand things I want to do with you. I guess we’re gonna need a few more days because I have plans. Tonight and tomorrow at least, but let’s be honest, it might be more like months. And I’m not even scared of that, because my plans are so _good_. But if you have plans, too, I can be patient. We can take turns. We have _time_.” What a crazy thing to be excited about, but Sylvain is.

Felix blinks his eyes open again. His lashes are so dark, and his eyes look a little unfocused. Sylvain grins and kisses him again, fast and dirty, before he lets him answer. 

“No,” says Felix.”I mean, yes. I want—but not right now, right now this is…”

He trails off, head tipped back, mouth hanging open, lips begging to be bitten. Sylvain bites them, because he’s a man of simple pleasures. He likes a good dirty kiss with some teeth. Felix is so pliable right now that Sylvain’s plan of just dropping to his knees and sucking him off will need some revision, because he’s pretty sure Felix will melt to the floor along with him.

“Ready for step two, then?” says Sylvain, and Felix starts to say “What?” but Sylvain kisses him and wraps his arms around Felix’s waist and picks him up so he can walk both of them over to the bed. Felix makes this startled, turned-on noise. He’s heavier than he looks because he’s more muscular than he looks, but Sylvain’s pretty broad, and anyway he was prepared for it. Felix shoves the hoodie and the shirt off his arms, finally, and puts his arms around Sylvain’s neck instead, which is _good_. Sylvain is very much in favor of being held on to. 

Luckily it’s just a few steps over to the bed, so Sylvain can drop Felix—half on, half off the bed—and kneel over him, admiring the view. Felix laughs and rolls his eyes, and Sylvain needs to kiss that laugh out of his mouth every time it happens. Felix still has one foot on the floor, and so does Sylvain; his other leg is against Felix’s hips in those skin tight ripped up black jeans, which are getting in the way of Sylvain’s view of all of Felix’s obviously perfect stomach muscles. He thumbs open the button on Felix’s fly and Felix kind of gasps and rolls his hips up out of reflex more than anything else. 

“Cool?” says Sylvain. “You’ve had someone do this before, right? Or do I get to do the honors for the first time—”

“Shut the fuck up,” says Felix, smacking him on the shoulder. Is he blushing or turned on? “Yes, someone has. You just don’t want me to have anything to compare you to—”

“Excuse me, I am _extremely_ confident I’m gonna take the gold medal here, no matter _how_ many competitors.” Sylvain grins down at him. “I am a dick sucking _champion_. You like to go running? This is my sport.”

“You’re the _worst_ ,” says Felix, throwing an arm over his face, which does very little to hide how into it he is, especially once Sylvain starts tugging his jeans down, and his cock is obviously straining against his underwear. Felix rolls his hips up helpfully, and starts to tug at his own briefs, but Sylvain still wants to take his time with this, and he bats Felix’s hands away. Sylvain’s so hard in his own jeans he’s a little worried he might pass out, but it’s so good when he shifts his weight and gets just that tiny little edge of friction. 

“Weren’t you just bragging? Come _on_ ,” says Felix. His voice is tight.

“About how _good_ , not how _fast_ , baby,” says Sylvain. Felix groans at him, or maybe at the pet name. Sylvain kisses Felix’s stomach just to watch the muscles tense up and feel them twitch under his mouth. He kisses his way along the trail of hair there but then shifts over and kisses the crease of Felix’s hip, and drags his mouth down Felix’s thigh. Felix tries to roll his hips up again—Sylvain holds him down—and makes this beautiful, broken, helpless noise that forces Sylvain to stop and breathe deeply for a minute so he doesn’t come in his jeans like a kid. 

“Just,” says Felix, and then, “ _please_.” 

Sylvain grins. He pushes himself up for a second, just so he can drink this in. Felix is so beautiful, even with his face turned away under his arm. His hair is coming loose. His chest is heaving. He’s holding himself so carefully still that his stomach, when Sylvain runs a hand over it, feels like steel under velvet.

“Okay,” says Sylvain. “You ready?”

“Shut up and do it—” Felix starts. Sylvian hooks his fingers in Felix’s underwear and pulls it down, and Felix gasps and stops talking. Sylvain grins, because he really, really loves this part, pins Felix down with his hands again, and takes him in his mouth.

Having one foot on the floor gives him a decent amount of leverage, which is good. What’s better, though, is how Felix smells, and tastes, and whines these helpless breathy little noises, and Sylvain is going to get to hear this _again_ sometime. He’s not just trying to make Felix feel good, he’s learning Felix like a new song. What happens when he runs his tongue along the underside of Felix’s cock—only good things, a stifled gasp and then a groan deep in his chest—or takes Felix all the way into his mouth. Sylvain’s voice is going to be destroyed tomorrow. He’s so happy. Shit, he might need to make a blow job _schedule_ so the band doesn’t get too pissed at him. He can’t wait to see Felix’s face when he suggests it.

“Sylvain,” Felix moans. He’s shaking apart under Sylvain’s hands. Sylvain has to pull off and stop and breathe again for a second. He’s starting to see white light in little flashes behind his eyes. Maybe you can die from not coming, Sylvain thinks. It’ll be a hell of a way to go.

Sylvain tugs on Felix’s arm, because he wants to see his face when he comes. Felix makes a tiny noise of protest, but his face is so open, so unguarded right now, so intensely lost in whatever he’s feeling, that Sylvain doesn’t need anything else from him. 

He can go ahead and finish Felix off, because—and he can’t believe the way this makes his whole chest feel warm—he’s going to get to do this again. 

“We’re gonna do this again, right?” Sylvain asks, just to be sure. Just to watch Felix blush.

Felix, cheeks burning, says angrily, “We haven’t done it yet, asshole!” His voice is so tight and his words are a little slurred, and his eyes are fully unfocused again.

Sylvain grins. “Good,” he says, “can’t wait.” Sylvain leans down and takes Felix in his mouth again, and this time he’s going for the gold medal, not the points for artistry. He uses his tongue and his lips, really getting his cheeks good and hollowed out, really getting in there, because Felix is generally pretty quiet but you can tell by the way the little noises change that he’s getting close. 

And then Felix’s hips jerk up again, and he comes in Sylvain’s mouth. Sylvain likes it, actually. He’s never felt the need to spit—he likes wringing every last drop out of his partners. 

He’s gonna get Felix to vouch for him to Dedue that everyone really does genuinely have a good time. 

Eventually Felix kind of flails one of his hands at Sylvain, pushing at him, and Sylvain pulls off with a nice juicy pop. He’s got Felix’s taste in his mouth, and maybe he looks a little smug when he sits back on the bed. Felix looks wrecked. He’s just kind of sprawled out across the bed, hair half-loose, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, mouth a little open, looking bruised and bitten.

“Okay, but we _are_ gonna do this again, right?” Sylvain asks, grinning. “You said you _like_ me. We’re friends. No take backs. Friends who keep doing this, right? Like, whenever possible? As often as possible? _That_ kind of friend?”

Felix doesn’t open his eyes to grumble, “Are you trying to invent the idea of having a boyfriend, you idiot?”

Sylvain laughs and swats Felix’s hip. He’s absolutely not ready for that, but… Could he be? Would he like to be? “Maybe,” he says, joking instead. “I don’t know. You gonna keep me around?”

“Fucking oh my god, you _never_ shut _up_ ,” Felix says. He kicks off his jeans and sneakers, and blinks up at Sylvain. “Do you want… I can…” He gestures weakly, flapping his hand around.

“Yes,” says Sylvain, kicking his sneakers off and wriggling out of his jeans and underwear. His dick bounces up, enjoying its freedom, and honestly just the chill air of the hotel room, combined with Felix looking so fucked out on his bed, is almost enough for Sylvain to come. He throws himself onto the bed next to Felix, cuddled up to his side. “Lend me a hand?” says Sylvain hopefully, kissing Felix’s neck.

“ _Stop_ making stupid puns,” Felix orders, but there’s no bite to it, and he seems happy enough to reach over and wrap his fingers around Sylvain’s cock. He’s got calluses from playing bass but his skin is really soft, and the contrast is amazing.

“I’m only gonna need like, one touch,” says Sylvain. “Don’t judge me, I also jerked off thinking about you in the shower earlier. So if you give me an hour and wake me back up, I can—”

“Shut _up_ ,” says Felix. The angle must be kind of weird for him, but he licks his hand—fuck he’s so hot—and then closes his fingers around Sylvain’s cock again, a little tight, a little rough, absolutely perfect.

It is, embarrassingly, about ten seconds before Sylvain shouts and comes all over Felix’s hip, seeing stars and hearing the music of the goddess flowing through his veins. Felix is warm underneath him, both of them sweaty and worn out.

Sylvain tucks the knowledge that fucked-out Felix is actually a cuddler away somewhere for later use. Sylvain will need a cuddle eventually, and it’s good to know how to get one. He throws an arm over Felix’s chest so he won’t get so embarrassed when he comes back to himself that he tries to sneak away.

It’s at least ten minutes before Felix groans and shifts. “I’m not even fully on the bed, Sylvain. Can you—fucking move _over_.” 

Sylvain is smart enough not to be vocally delighted that Felix wants to get further into his bed. It feels a lot like winning the lottery. He scoots backwards and grabs Felix and hauls him the rest of the way onto the bed, which Felix grumbles about, but half-heartedly. 

“Are you cold?” Sylvain asks.

“No,” says Felix. “...maybe.”

Sylvain laughs and kisses him—Felix is still so pliable that Sylvain’s pretty sure he could get away with just about anything right now, which is another fascinating fact to squirrel away for later—and then pulls the ugly hotel comforter up over both of them. 

“You’re staying tonight?” Sylvain asks.

“Unless you’re kicking me out.”

Sylvain grins. “And tomorrow?”

“Fuck. I don’t know. My whole plan was…show up. Say something stupid. Hope for the best.”

Sylvain can’t possibly cling harder or cuddle closer into Felix’s space, but he tries. “It was cute,” he says. “I liked it. I like you, hoping for stuff.”

Felix groans loudly. “Don’t—don’t make this a _thing_.”

“Too late,” says Sylvain. “We are definitely a thing.”

—

Sylvain wakes up with light pouring in the window, because he was too distracted to close the curtains last night. Felix is still next to him, checking his phone, not looking especially grumpy to be there. 

“Cute kittens?” Sylvain asks, voice all deep and scratchy, cuddling in closer so he can see the phone, too.

“Yeah,” says Felix. He’s clearly been awake for a while. “Look, they’re almost old enough to be adopted.” He shows Sylvain his phone. 

They’re very cute kittens. “You wanna adopt one with me?” Sylvain asks. “I have a nice big apartment.”

Felix elbows him the ribs. “You can’t—Yesterday you were literally like, ‘I’m not worth a second of your time’ and now you’re like, ‘let’s move in and adopt cats.’ You’re insane.”

“I still don’t think I’m worth much, but apparently you do,” says Sylvain.

Felix rolls his eyes. “You said you make sure people treat you like you deserve. I’m just…” He seems to realize how soft that sentence is going to be and stops. “Shut up. Never mind.” 

“Treating me like you think I deserve?” Sylvain asks, truly touched.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Don’t be an asshole about it, okay.”

“I am absolutely going to be an asshole about it,” says Sylvain.

“Then I’m gonna treat you how you deserve,” Felix says crabbily, elbowing him again. “Oh, hey… Whatever you said to Dima—to Dimitri—he’s taking a vacation, apparently. He says it’s to ‘get his head on straight,’ as if he hasn’t been crazy his whole life. But…I guess he and Dedue are like, gonna go away for a few weeks? To try and chill out? I couldn’t fucking believe it when he said it.”

“You know how I kept saying I wasn’t your band’s sex therapist? I think maybe I was,” says Sylvain, rolling onto his back, hands behind his head. 

“Ugh,” says Felix, making a face. “Gross.”

Sylvain grins at him. He feels so light, like he woke up in a world with different gravity. “Are you down for morning-breath make outs? I can’t believe you just showed up at my door.”

“One of us is an idiot who forgot his phone, so I never actually got his phone number,” Felix says, looking adorably embarrassed again. 

“You could have asked Byleth.”

“Yeah, well… Shut up.”

Someone bangs on Sylvain’s door a few times, and it sounds like the door might collapse at any second, which means it’s Ingrid. Felix looks a little alarmed, but Sylain is delighted, and he springs out of bed and grabs underwear out of his suitcase to jump into on his way to answer the door. “Yeah?” he says, swinging the door open more than he needs to so Ingrid can clearly see there’s someone in his bed.

“The bus is leaving in an hour, and we’re trying not to leave you behind this time,” says Ingrid. She’s fully dressed, hair braided. She’s probably already been to the hotel gym and showered this morning. 

“Cool,” says Sylvain. “Hey, Felix, you wanna tag along with us for a while? Maybe you can be our band’s sex therapist next. Ingrid here is all up in her head about this girl she likes. And Ashe might honestly be a virgin, I’ve never asked.”

“Oh my god,” says Felix, hiding his face under the pillow.

Ingrid raises both eyebrows. “Is that your hot boy?” she asks. “Please don’t fuck Sylvain up any more than he already is. You seem nice; I’d hate to have to kill you.”

“I won’t,” says Felix, muffled. “I mean. I’m not trying to.”

 _Wow!_ Ingrid mouths at Sylvain. He knows what she means— _Wow, he’s a real person. Wow, he stuck around. Wow, you’re inviting him to_ keep _sticking around?!_

“He _kind of likes me_ ,” says Sylvain, grinning. “Can you believe it?”

“Barely,” says Ingrid. “Get packed and get downstairs. Uh, nice to meet you, Felix.”

Felix waves a hand at her.

Sylvain closes the door again and starts throwing clothes into his suitcase. “No pressure,” he says. “If you wanted this to be a one night stand it would be exactly what I deserve. But since your tour is over, and you’re already here… _Do_ you want to travel with us for a while?”

“Stop trying to talk me out of this. I don’t have anywhere else to be,” says Felix, finally moving the pillow off his face. “If…that’s cool? I guess?”

Sylvain can’t stop smiling. He must look like an idiot. “I like you,” he says. “Come with us. I like you _so much._ ”

“Fuck off,” says Felix, smiling, and it sounds like _I like you so much, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to thank Erin and Noah for the encouragement one more time ❤️
> 
> @writesHarriet on twitter if you want to shout about Fire Emblem (my friends are so tired of me)


End file.
